Thorin's Wife
by kkolmakov
Summary: Would you like a cup of kkolmakov's specialty angst? Here is your poison. Thorin's heart belongs to the woman who can never be his. The war has taken everything from him; and now it resides in the dreams of Revna, daughter of Drori, the widow of the King's brother, Frerin.
1. Revna

**How about this, my dear readers?**

* * *

When Thorin first met Revna, daughter of Drori, not even twenty years had passed since Smaug had usurped Erebor. He was young then, full of sense of self-importance and bright hopes. She was the most beautiful woman he had seen. Her hair was so fair that it seemed almost white in the light of the candles in the Great Hall in the residence of the Longbeards in the Blue Mountains.

The Longbeards were slowly settling in their exile; and Thorin felt that a large part of the responsibilities and the burden lay on his shoulders, just as on his father's and grandfather's. Among other things, a marriage to a bride from an old family would benefit his kin; and revels were held, despite the scarceness of their belongings.

Revna stepped into the hall, followed by two ladies-in-waiting; and Thorin felt his breathing hitch. She was tall for a Khuzd, full-bodied, with light step and elegant posture. There was a soft smile on her full pink lips; and benevolence shone in her large green eyes. She was well-known for her even, kind character, her generosity, and her humble disposition. Her family tree was as renown as his; but he felt he would be just infatuated had she been a simple chambermaid.

Her skin was white and as if glowing in the flickering light. He approached her for the first dance, the craving to touch her hand the only thought on his mind. She lowered her eyes, accepting his hand; and his gaze roamed the long strong neck, and the beautiful round shoulders.

They danced; and when the music changed he didn't allow another to cut in. She smiled to him shyly; and he just couldn't tear his eyes off her face. They stepped to the table with refreshments then, and a short conversation followed. She showed herself intelligent, witty, and courteous. He listened in admiration to her perfectly articulated words; he laughed at her good-natured teasing remark about him taking over her dances; and then she smiled and whispered she was glad he did.

He felt inebriated, although he hardly drank any mead. His skin felt flushed, though the hall wasn't warmed through properly. Hunger and thirst tormented him, but not for drink or food.

And then Frerin walked up to them, and wrapped his arm around Thorin's shoulder. Frerin - with his beaming smile; always in good spirits; not a worry in the world attitude - was always forgiven for the lack of decorum, and for the conversations he interrupted; and even at the moment, when his world seemed to have shrunk to a small spot lit up with candles, near a table with jugs and plates, Thorin smiled to his brother and patted his back.

Thorin introduced then to each other; and Frerin said something playful and merry, in his usual manner; and of course, Revna answered just perfectly.

It took Thorin less than the length of one dance - the tune and the clapping washing over the three of them - to understand that Frerin wasn't behaving like himself. He was quiet and uncharacteristically serious. Instead of his usual interrupting, he was listening attentively to what the Dwarven maiden had to say. He didn't jest. He didn't take a simple sip from the goblet in his hand.

And Thorin could see how Revna's eyes never left Frerin's face.

Thorin stayed. Although everything inside him screamed to leave and hide, he stayed and watched how through one evening Frerin and Revna found each other. It went as such - a conversation by the table; a dance; then another; then they stepped aside to the wall, noticing nothing and no one; they spoke; someone approached; they first tried to pay attention to others besides the two of them, but failed; another dance followed; and then their hands intertwined; and they walked out of the Hall.

Their betrothal had been shortened, explained by the stranded state the Longbeards had to endure; and how new families were needed in the Blue Mountains. At their wedding Thorin drank too much, and almost started a fight. Dis was there to stop him.

And then their grandfather, Thror, son of Dain, son of Nain, travelled to Moria, with only one companion, and fell at the hand of the filth named Azog. The war started, and more and more young men were lost.

The first years of the war were grim, but gradually more and more of their kind were joining the Longbeards.

While Thorin stayed behind gathering more forces for an assault on Moria, Frerin, in the company of his closest kinsman Fundin, son of Farin joined Thrain in his fight in the caves under the Misty Mountains. What had transpired there very few knew, and even less were willing to speak of. Dark and bitter were the faces of those who had roamed the caverns; and evil deeds were said to be done by both sides, by night and by light. Revna was among the warriors, fighting along her new husband.

When Thorin met the two of them, the united army of Dwarves from all over the Middle Earth was marching towards the valley at the Eastern Gates of Moria. Thorin hardly recognised the familiar faces. Their eyes were sunken, and strange shadows and harsh lines lay on their faces. Revna's beauty - previously tender and as if etched in pale marble - was now just a shadow. She was thinned and as if frozen, her eyes widened. Neither of them seemed able to sleep, and they stayed in Thorin's tent till dawn, drinking in silence. It was with heavy heart that Thorin led these two people he loved most in the world into the Battle of Azanulbizar.

When Frerin's body burnt on the funeral pyre, Revna was thrashing on a cot in a healer's tent, her body bleeding out of the three large wounds on her torso - and in the pains of losing her unborn child. Thorin didn't know if she or Frerin had been aware what treasure she had carried into the battle and lost in it.

In the middle of lament and drinking, Thorin walked to the tent, and stopped behind the flap. Revna had fallen before Frerin, and Thorin cowardly wished there was someone else to bring her the news. He took a shuddered breath in, and pushed the flap to the side.

A young female healer was wiping Revna's face with a wet cloth.

"She hasn't come to, my lord," the woman said, but Thorin wasn't listening. In terror he was looking at the white face of the woman he loved, all features sharpened and wan. "She still might."

* * *

Another forty years passed, and Thorin was sitting in his study. He had just had a worrisome conversation with his father. Thrain had once again fallen in one of his restless moods, and kept talking about reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, and the key, and the map pointing at the secret passage into the Mountain. Thorin listened, growing darker and darker in the face. They had their life in the Blue Mountains; their people had only just started recovering from the war. Erebor was nothing but a faint memory.

Thrain left; and Thorin rubbed the back of his neck and grumbled, but finally settled to read the parchments that had arrived from the Iron Hills, when a courtier informed him that Lady Revna had just arrived to Ered Luin and was requesting the audience with him.

Thorin rose when she came in; and he just couldn't find any words.

The last time he had seen her was just after she had started her recovery. She was leaving for the iron Hills. He as much as begged her to stay, to regain her strength first; but she just shook her head. She hardly spoke since she had come to; and there was no life in her eyes.

The woman standing in front of Thorin now looked exactly like the girl he had met during that revel. Her eyes shone amicably, and she smiled to him.

"Nadad," she greeted him, just as she always had called him. Shortly, during the war, he had become 'my lord' to her, when he led her battalion into battle. "It is joy to see you!"

She stepped forward, and opened her hands. He grasped the long strong fingers.

"Revna… How are you faring?"

They sat down, and she told him of how her health had been restored, and how her family was prospering. She told him her younger sister was now married, and how her older brothers were planning to move their family trade to Ered Luin. She smiled to him shyly - his heart clenched at the familiar sight - and said that it seemed she would be residing closer to her other family now. She asked of Dis, and Thorin's father. Not a word was spoken of Frerin.

The following years Thrain was growing feebler in mind and body; Thorin would take more and more responsibilities upon himself. Dis had carried two sons and lost her husband.

Revna would come to the Blue Mountains quite often, with the merchants from her brothers' company. And then one night Thorin, who couldn't sleep the nights she stayed in the guest rooms in his halls, heard her screams.

He rushed into her bedchamber and saw her thrashing around the room, her white night dress like a specter in the moonlight. He called her name, but she continued her wails, and then she lunged at him, scratching and hitting. It took him a shockingly long time to overpower her. She was howling, pressed into the floor by his weight, and then she started sobbing and crying, and sense returned into her eyes.

They sat on her bed after that, and she told him that the terrors were her constant companion since the war. Thorin had nightmares as well; but nothing of the kind he had just watched to torture the woman. She said she could never speak of what had been done to them and by them in the darkness of the Misty Mountains. And then she started sobbing again, her arms wrapped around her middle, and the words 'my babe… my babe...' kept falling from her lips. Thorin pulled her into himself, and she let him.

He wasn't sure how it happened that they fell asleep in her bed together. He also didn't know whether the next night he was in the passage worried for her or hoping she would need him again. She did. He heard the screams, and came; and once again he held her in his arms through the night - this time he stayed awake.

She stayed for a moon, and after three nights he came before the candles were blown out. She stood in the middle of the chamber, and he met her widened pained eyes.

"What must you think of me..." she whispered, and he embraced her.

"I think that we both need this to sleep," he whispered in return.

There hadn't been a single kiss; but Thorin was a man. There was desire in him. He would have acted on it, he was intending to tell her so every night - but he never did; and then she left. Her departure was hasty, and left most of her kin puzzled - but not Thorin.

A letter came from her. It was decorous and proper - just as everything that Revna did - in which she said she was not intending to ever visit the Blue Mountains again. All Thorin had left were the memories of twenty two nights he held her in his arms, tortured by the most excruciating of fires; drowning in shame and lust; overcome with love and tenderness.

And then it was time for Thorin to wed. He had so little interest in such affair that he left everything to Dis to decide, organise, and watch over. He had a kingdom to rule, and a hollow heart to live with.

 **To be continued...**


	2. Wrena

Thorin's wedding had to be postponed due to the disappearance of his father. Thrain had left the Mountains with Balin and Dwalin and journeyed to the Wilderland. The two Dwarves returned alone. Thorin was now the King-in-the-Exile.

His wife was chosen by Dis, and Thorin saw her only a handful of times before the celebrations. Her family was one of the oldest among the Durin's Folk; her ancestors fought in the wars with the Cold Drakes. In the latest centuries their wealth had thinned out, due to unwise choices made in trade. Thorin understood that his bride was marrying him for the wealth and stature, and it sat well with him. She was unattractive, but he liked her confident manner and her humour. She was always ready to laugh. During the wedding feast, she sat between him and Balin; and the old Dwarf kept jesting with her. Her silver laugh was pleasant. She had levelled disposition; and made an excellent partner for him.

She bore him a son, just after one year of marriage; and the boy was born strong and healthy. He had Thorin's dark curls and blue eyes; and Thorin hadn't expected himself to enjoy fatherhood so much. He knew that majorly it was his wife's orderly housekeeping and her balanced character that he had to thank for his current domestic harmony.

With time he also grew to appreciate her tact and her keen mind. He started seeking her advice on state matters.

Thirty five years later their daughter was born; and Thorin found himself not just content, but happy. The girl was a marvel; and for the first time in his life Thorin's heart had grown to know what tenderness was.

Thorin hadn't given up the hope to find his father; and one day he ran into the wizard, Gandalf the Grey, during his travels to Bree. They had concocted the plan to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. Thorin did realize that the wizard was trying to plant this idea in his mind; but Thorin was of Erebor - his thoughts would travel to the old Kingdom usurped by the worm without much prompting. And now, they had the key and the map; and upon long consideration Thorin gathered a company and set out onto the quest.

When he came to in a healer's tent in Erebor Valley, his eyes roamed the familiar faces around, for some reason searching for his wife. She, of course, was not there. She had stayed in the Blue Mountains with his children and his sister.

The Hobbit, the wizard, and the company were there though; and he was told that his sister-sons were alive, although both injured severely. They had fought near him; and when he fell he could still see Fili on his feet. All three of them were recovering slowly, having exhausted a lot of their strength during the quest. Kili was the fastest to recuperate, although he would remain limping till the end of his life now. Fili had lost control over his left arm. Nonetheless, the times that came were joyous. Erebor had been returned to the Durin's folk.

Three moons later his family arrived to the Mountain, renovations in full bloom by then. Thorin met them at the newly repaired Great Gates. The boy jumped off his pony, while Thorin saw his girl climb out of a travelling wagon.

He knelt, and two small study bodies slammed into him.

"Adad!" the girl's voice rang, so much like her mother's. Thorin lifted his eyes, and saw his wife standing near the wagon. She was smiling widely to him, and for the first time in years he'd been married to her, he noticed how bright her eyes shone.

He rose, the girl sitting on his bent arm, and he opened the second one in an invitation. The woman laughed and rushed to him. Her arms went around his neck, and she pressed to him flush.

"Thorin..." she breathed out, and he opened his mouth to greet her, when she suddenly grabbed the back of his head and pulled him to her lips. Such open display of amorous feelings was quite unusual for them - but he was glad to see her too. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her even closer. She laughed happily into the buss.

That night after a small celebratory dinner, after he sat with his children, and watched them fall asleep, the boy still muttering something in his sleep, about the gates, and ponies, and swords - Thorin walked into the chambers that were now to become his home. His wife was sitting on the bed, her hair scattered on her shoulder. He saw familiar blush on her cheeks. He also saw familiar lines of her body under the thin gauzy undertunic; and desire woke up. He was painfully aware he hadn't touched her in more than twelve moons.

He sat near her, and she immediately moved closer. He cupped her jaw, and kissed her.

"I feared for you," she whispered, and brushed his hair off his face. "I prayed for you, every night… Mahal was merciful to keep you safe." Her eyes roamed his face, and she smiled to him. He returned the smile. "I have missed you," she said shyly, and he realized that he did as well.

That night they lay together many times; and Thorin didn't notice how he fell asleep. The next day he woke up and felt her warm body pressed into his. Hunger woke up again, and he started kissing her shoulder and her breasts, in an uncharacteristic playfulness. She woke up and laughed. Even during the first moons after their wedding Thorin hadn't felt that merry, that light, and that enticed. He enjoyed the touch and the flavour, more than ever before, and she seemed to return his favour.

They spent the whole day in bed, to their own surprise. She asked him around midday - in a gingerly flirtatious tone - whether he thought it was unseeming for a couple that old and that busy to waste so many hours on such trivial pursuits - and he gave it a thought, decided that it was none of anyone's business how he wanted to greet his wife to their new home, and he rolled her under him, kissing her neck. She gasped and apparently didn't have any objections to his opinion. One day of frivolous pursuits and kisses turned into five; and once he even grabbed her in a passage, and they spent an hour kissing in a nearby pantry. A fortnight later she turned out to be in the family way again.

The life was good in Erebor in the following years. More and more Dwarves arrived; families grew; trade flourished. Thorin's third child - another son - was born a moon too early; but was a healthy and an easy babe. He had his mother's fiery locks and her slanted green eyes.

* * *

Thorin was turning two hundred years old, and his days were full of state matters and happy hours with his family - when a parchment arrived from the Iron Hills. Several merchant families were asking permission to move their trade to the Lonely Mountain, due to its proximity to the newly rebuilt city of Dale and the Elvenking Halls. The merchants were a part of a large guild of wine sellers; and among the names of its heads Thorin saw a familiar one.

He answered favourably to the petition; and three moons later the company arrived. Revna dismounted her pony; and Thorin and Dis greeted her in the courtyard.

It seemed that she had not changed; or perhaps Thorin's memory was failing him. She looked well, her beauty as fresh and crisp as before. Her silk white waves lay on the luscious fur collar of her cloak; and gems shone in her hair, and in her earlobes.

"Nadad," she greeted Thorin with a brilliant smile. "Dis," she turned to Thorin's sister. The women embraced. "It is joy to be in Erebor."

Thorin stepped closer to her, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek. Some sweet smell tickled his nose, and he noted the smoothness of her rosy cheek.

"Welcome to Erebor, Revna." Their eyes met, and she smiled.

She went to the guest rooms, and Thorin hurried to his study. Preparations were to be made for the negotiations that were to be held before the celebratory dinner.

He was finishing a short charter, when a knock came to his door.

Dis came in and sat in a chair across from him. He saw she was nervous, and he frowned.

"What is it, namad?" he asked in slight irritation. She was not speaking, her lips pressed in an apprehensive line.

"I will not make runes dance, brother," Dis spoke after a short sigh. "I will just ask you directly. Please, remember that your wife is not dim, and if you happen to… show your feelings, you will hurt her greatly."

Thorin lifted his eyes off the parchment.

"I cannot understand any of this, sister. What are you all about?" He was confused and growing more and more irked. It was clearly some sort of convoluted women's palaver.

"When I was choosing a bride for you, Thorin, I chose the one who would not expect any love from you. Wrena is a reasonable woman, and she hardly has any illusions regarding your character. But even she would take offence if her husband were to moon over another openly. She had been an excellent wife to you. Show her respect."

Thorin knew not what to say to that. Not only Dis was overstepping all possible boundaries, the mere subject of this conversation was preposterous! Revna was the widow of their brother. Thorin had promised himself to another. His love for her was a matter of the past.

"Leave, Dis," he grumbled, and went back to his work. "I will not answer to you."

"As long as you have heard me," Dis answered pointedly, rose, and left.

It took Thorin a few minutes to bring his mind back to the matters at hand. Dis had never behaved so before!

He had not forgotten his sister's words, though; and when he went down to dinner and was introducing Revna to his wife, he felt acute unease. He felt irritation rise at the thought that Dis might have shared her mad ideas with Wrena.

The dinner went well. Between the conversations among the guild masters and Erebor officials, Revna asked about life in Erebor, and Wrena was the best person to answer her. They spoke of the infirmary - Wrena's labour of love. Thorin didn't listen much, absorbed in the general discussions at the table.

* * *

The odd conversation with Dis quickly faded in Thorin's memory; and days ran by. Most of the time Thorin dealt with two guild masters - Revna, and a young Dwarf named Toki, son of Vigg. The man had inherited the trade from his father; and although he knew it better than many older Dwarves, Thorin found his manner taxing. The young man was too eager and too conceited. Thorin preferred to have all discussions with Revna; and with time she started coming to his study alone.

They had dinners together often, if the working hours stretched until later. With time, idle conversations started sprouting between the negotiations. Her mind was as sharp and her laughter as soft as he remembered. She had told him of her life in the Iron Hills; and he couldn't summon himself when he started sharing memories of the quest with her. They never spoke of the past beyond the day she'd left the Blue Mountains after the moon, the nights of which they shared. They didn't speak of those nights either - but what was there to speak of?

Three weeks after the merchants' arrival, Thorin suddenly invited Revna to spar with him. He still trained every day; and it was an unexpected pleasure to share it with her. Her skill with a blade had grown since they sparred together last; and she landed him on his shoulder blades twice. She stood over him, laughing; and he caught himself admiring her radiant face. She stretched the hand to him, and he took it - and then he jerked her down at the last moment, and cut her under her feet. She landed on the floor, and laughed even more loudly.

"You're still the same, Thorin," she panted between bouts of laughter. "The same cheat, just like when you and Frerin trained with me." She halted, and her eyes widened. Blood rushed from her face, and Thorin grabbed her hand firmly and pulled her up.

"It is good to speak of him," he said softly to her. "Who knew him better than you?" He tried to make her feel more at ease, but she frowned and took her hand out of his.

"I think I should repose now. I am not that young anymore..." she muttered, and quickly walked away from him.

He invited her to the training grounds again the next day; and although she seemed to hesitate, she agreed. He didn't speak of Frerin again; and neither did she. They spent three pleasurable hours together; and Thorin returned to his chambers, sweet fatigue buzzing in his muscles.

They were now spending almost each evening together; and one day Thorin caught himself anticipating the conversation, and sharing work with her.

And then the Summer Fest came; and for three days Erebor danced, and drank, and betrothals were announced, according to traditions. Women wear colourful dresses, and live flowers were weaved into their hair. Gifts were exchanged; promises made. Thorin had loved the occasion since he was a child; and he took an especial pleasure in it now, since these days he had his own children to take to fetes and to spoil with gifts.

A feast was held in the Royal Halls; and the revels lasted till dawn.

Thorin was no fool; and he did recall Dis' words from all those moons ago; and yet he just couldn't take his eyes off Revna that night. She walked into the Hall, her head held high. The dress on her was of a deep red colour, and rubies and diamonds shone around her beautiful neck, in the lobes, and on her long strong fingers. Men murmured admiring her. She was splendorous - her beauty still youthful after all these years was now mixed with dignity and serenity of a mature woman. And Thorin just couldn't stop throwing her glances.

He drank more than usual that night, not knowing why himself. Some strange tightness resided in his chest; and memories of the old days would suddenly rush into his mind in the midst of celebrations around him; and he thought of those few short happy years before the war; and how young and joyous Frerin was; and then he thought of the wan faces of Frerin and Revna in his tent just before the last battle; and of her strong body in his arms in those twenty two nights. And Thorin drank more and more.

The sun was rising over the peak of the Lonely Mountain when he made his way back to his chambers, on unstable feet. He had to hold onto the wall when he walked; and even had to stop in the passage couple times to rein the spinning of his heavy head.

He pushed the door into his wife's bedchamber. They had separate bedrooms, but slept in them interchangeably, depending on where they ended up falling asleep. It was lit by many candles, and the brightness tortured Thorin's eyes. Wrena was sitting on her bed, still in her dress. There was a jug of wine and a mug on a small table in front of her.

"What are all these lights for?" he grumbled, and pulled at the clasps on his doublet.

"I want you to sleep in your room tonight," she said in a dark tone, and Thorin froze and slowly looked up at her. Her eyes were narrowed into angry slits.

"What?"

"I do not wish to share my bed with you anymore. Ever again." Her usually bright red lips were white, and he saw her chest was rising in sharp breaths. "I do not want you to ever touch me again."

"Wrena..." he started in a warning tone. He didn't appreciate this sudden tantrum of hers! "What is this nonsense?"

"I have fulfilled my duty as your wife. I have received you as a man for many years; I gave you children. No more."

Thorin squeezed his eyes and shook his head trying to clear his mind. He couldn't summon what she was talking about!

"What are you saying?" he grumbled. She was lifting a mug to her lips; he saw how much her hand shook.

"I am saying that if you want some sweet loving you should go to your marble statue, to your perfect Lady Revna. From now on I'm your Queen, but I am not your wife."

Thorin took a step towards her, anger rising in him. She gave him a defiant glare.

"Are you mad, Wrena?"

"No. To think of it, I have finally come to my senses," she answered. "And now I want you to get out of my bedroom."

She was inebriated, Thorin finally understood. That was what it was about! She had little skill in drinking, brews affected her more than most Dwarves. She had drunk excessively and was now speaking nonsense. He decided she would sober up and apologize the next morning.

"Sleep it off, Wrena," he grumbled. "It is as if it is not even you, such nonsense..."

The clay mug from her hand smashed into the wall near him, and he instinctively lifted his hand shielding his face.

"I am not drunk! I'm just not blind anymore!" She jumped to her feet and lunged at him. Her face twisted in a grimace was suddenly right in front of his. "I thought I was enough! I thought you were too cold to seek anything besides the convenient marriage I worked so hard for. And now I see, you can be passionate! You can love, and desire, and admire! You do have fire inside - it's just not for me! Well, forgive me, my lord," she sneered venomously through her teeth. "I do not have to stay to watch you yearn for another, and to be finally received by the perfect woman you have loved for so long! I have fulfilled my obligations! Now I can stay in peace in my room! And you are not welcome in it!" She turned on her heels and marched back to bed.

She then grabbed the jug and faced him again.

"Go! Now! Get out of here!"

She shook the jug in the air; and fearing it would head his way, Thorin turned around and left quickly.


	3. Wrena's Life

**A/N: Double update today. Don't miss the second chapter. And have a look into my Wattpad page (kkolmakov/Katya Kolmakov). I have two webserials running there (dark and angsty on Thursday; and a cheery and romantic on Saturday). You might find something you like ;) Modern Thorin and Wren are a must in my stories, of course ;)**

 **Cheers,**

 **K.**

* * *

Wrena didn't come to apologize the day after. Neither had she shown any signs of remorse. She was even and civil with him during the following days, but treated him coldly.

If not for her preposterous outburst, he probably wouldn't have noticed the changes right away - but he was watching attentively now. She wasn't addressing him during family meals; she didn't even look at him. During the usual audience hours, she sat at the table with him, listening to the Dwarves coming with their grievances, but she didn't turn her head to him once. If a matter required their discussion she remained silent, letting him decide everything himself. After the last grievant received their answer, she quickly rose and left the room. Usually they would have a meal together afterwards, in his study.

A week passed; and he started noticing other small things amiss in his life. Dinners tasted worse - and then he realized that less of his favourite dishes were served. There was no water jug and a mug near his bed at night. He slept poorly, for as long as he remembered; and he often woke up at night, his mouth and throat scratchy from thirst. And of course he now slept alone. The bed felt too large; and once he fell off it in the middle of the night. When it happened again, he surmised that he was moving in his sleep, trying to find her warmth under the covers, and eventually he would just topple over the edge.

The carnal hunger was just a slight annoyance at the beginning, making him irritable; but three weeks later, it was turning into a torment. Dreams started, vague and heated; making him even more disagreeable during the day. He knew the reason for his temper outbursts, but couldn't rein them.

Two moons of this bothersome folly after the Summer Fest was as much as he could tolerate, and eventually he decided to just talk to the nonsensical woman.

* * *

He stopped in front of her door, and realized that he lifted a hand to knock. He then made a scornful noise, and pushed the door with unnecessary force. Those were his halls! He didn't need permission to enter them.

She was sitting at her vanity, glasses low on the bridge of her nose. There was a cloth in her hand, she was cleaning her hairpins. They were placed in a neat row on another piece of fabric, and he could smell vinegar in the air.

She lifted her eyes at him, and immediately anger flashed in them. She was silent, and he stomped by her and sat on the bed.

"Wrena, this needs to stop," he said firmly. "Do not think me dim, I can see what you're doing. You got a preposterous idea in your head, and now you're punishing me for a crime I have not committed. I demand you to stop."

She gave him a long look, carefully put her work down, and wiped her hands on a towel from her lap. She then turned on the chair and once again studied him over her glasses.

She then sighed, and said, "I will not. This is how it's going to be from now on. Like I said, I'm your Queen, but not your wife."

"Wrena, enough of this already!" When he was coming here, he promised himself to stay patient with her. She had been right that night after the Fest - as mad as her rambling had been: she had always been an excellent wife to him. He owed her reverence - but he was quickly losing his composure. "You had gotten drunk and lost your temper. I have given it a thought," he said pointedly. "You're jealous of Lady Revna, and you're acting up."

The slanted eyes of his wife narrowed.

He continued, trying to stay calm, "I think me explaining and defending myself would be an insult to both of us, so I will leave it to you to understand how preposterous your misdemeanour is." He had not done anything deplorable! He had not been unfaithful, for Mahal's sake! He spent a lot of time with Revna, but just as much he did with Balin, or Dwalin, or Lady Arva, his treasurer. He did not need to explain himself! He was not going to!

"I think you should leave," she said in a dull tone, and turned back to her vanity. She didn't pick up her tools, and just sat with her back straight.

Thorin couldn't understand what'd come over her! They had been married for a hundred years, and she had never shown anything but level-headedness and sound judgement. He couldn't recall a single instance of her complaining, or nagging him, or simply disagreeing with him! And now she was acting like a child!

"Wrena..." Thorin tried again, but she didn't turn. He saw her rigid shoulders and her small hand fisted on the vanity.

He decided that was quite enough; rose; and left, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Revna started annoying him as well. When he saw her, he was immediately reminded that she was the reason for his current predicament. He even spent one evening in his study trying to recall exactly how the two of them had behaved publicly, and whether something could have indeed offended Wrena. He couldn't find anything.

They still worked in his study every evening, and trained together; but he drew no pleasure out of it now. She seemed to have noticed his attitude, and was cancelling their sparring matches more and more often now.

Another moon passed, and he decided to make another attempt to reconcile with Wrena. He chose an evening when everyone was to repose early - the children and Dis were supposed to go to the market early the next morning; he then waited in his chambers; and then he picked up his doublet and hastily crossed the halls to his wife's half.

He knocked this time; there was no answer. He knocked again. The door opened - but it was not Wrena who stood on the other side.

"Evening, brother," Dis greeted him. He noticed that she didn't open the door fully, and was standing shielding the view inside from him. "Wrena isn't well. You should come on another night."

Thorin twisted his neck, trying to see inside, but Dis had grown ample in the latest years. And then he realized how laughable his behaviour was; and he nodded to her curtly and left.

The next day Wrena didn't show any signs of illness, and behaved in her usual way at breakfast. Thorin was losing any remnants of his patience these days, so he just found her mid-day in her infirmary.

The room was full of healers and apothecarists. They were all talking at the same time, passing some bunches of grass around, while Wrena stood in the middle, and it looked as if she were herding them like a hound. She would point and command; and new Dwarves entered carrying crates, others would carry them away. Something fell, someone cried out; and her voice rang over this commotion; and somehow it felt as if she was in total control of it. Thorin stopped and then had to jump back to the wall, because two Dwarves rushed by him, carrying some dusty sacks. And then he had to press his back into the shelf with vials to get from under the feet of two healers who ran by, one flailing some parchment in his hand, while another shouting at her. It smelled spicy and strange in the air.

"Wrena!" Thorin called to her, but she just waved her hand at him.

An old Dwarf who was cowering by the wall as well touched Thorin's sleeve. There was the guild mark of poison makers on the man's shoulder. "It is the deliveries time, my lord. It's been a week now, and there are three more days." The Dwarf gave Thorin an eye roll inviting him to join the joke. "No use trying to talk to the Queen, if one doesn't want to be smacked to the head by a bunch of dry nettle."

Thorin jerked his neck in irritation. He had half a thought to call to her again - he was her husband and the King - but that would be a childish tantrum to insist on intruding on her work - and he left.

She was late for dinner, and was still dressed in her infirmary robes. There were pieces of dry herbs and some twigs on her clothes and in her hair; and she plopped on a char and huffed air out.

"Pardon my tardiness," she muttered, and then greedily sank her teeth into a slice of bread.

"Deliveries?" Dis asked, and Wrena nodded.

"I came to see you in the infirmary today," Thorin said in a dark tone. She was pouring stew onto her plate. He expected her to look at him at least now, when he was addressing her directly. She did not.

She started eating, and he realized that everyone at the table was now throwing the two of them uneasy looks. These days it was Dis, Fili with his new wife, Kili, Balin, Dwalin, Thorin's children, and Revna who sat at dinner with them.

She was supposed to ask him what he had wanted from her at the infirmary. That was the first time she was showing her new attitude towards him openly. Before she would just answer, without looking at him, or veer the conversation so that she was speaking to someone else.

"You seem exhausted, sister," Dis said in a tense tone. "You're thinned. You need to take better care of yourself."

Wrena hummed, her mouth full of food, and then threw Dis a small closed-lipped smile. Thorin gave his wife an attentive look. She was indeed paler than usual, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. She was also eating unusually fast. She had impeccable manners; he always liked how elegantly and gracefully she carried herself. At the moment she seemed to be in a rush to finish her meal.

"All I want is to sleep these days, to be honest," she muttered, and took a large gulp from her goblet. She then leaned and kissed the top of their daughter's curly head. "Otherwise, your mother will fall asleep like an Elf - standing up."

The children giggled.

"Do they sleep standing up?" Thror asked, and Wrena widened her eyes dramatically.

"And with their eyes open. So you can't tell if they are awake until you poke them." Children laughed, and she joined them.

She then quickly wiped her mouth, ruffled Thror's hair, and excused herself.

"Going back to the infirmary?" Dis asked her, and Wrena groaned and nodded. She bid her quick goodbyes, and was gone.

Thorin went back to his dinner. The stew seemed tasteless, and his mood was dark.

He lay in his bed, and sleep predictably didn't come. His thoughts went through their usual circle. First, he felt irritated. Then he remembered that his wife was estranged these days, and that was the reason for his mood. Then he felt angry, since he was still certain, after all this time, that she was being absurd, and there was no fault on him. And then he would go through the list of possible ways to address this disagreement. He could try to talk to her again, but rational discussion didn't seem possible. He could try to intimidate her. Here he would once again think that he did not know how Wrena, daughter of Lir reacted to pressure. She had always shown resilience and stubbornness, during the difficult years in the Blue Mountains, and at the beginning of their life in Erebor. She could retaliate by making their discord known publicly. He cared little what others think, but he worried about the children. He could try to cajole her - but at the thought of groveling or buttering her up he immediately felt furious. She was the one misbehaving, not him!

And then he remembered how tired she looked at dinner, and a cunning idea came. If he was to corner her now, she would have less wit to argue with him.

He jumped out of the bed, pulled his trousers on, and walked out of the door.


	4. Night Visit

**A/N: Don't miss the previous chapter. It's a double update today, and this one is the second half!**

 **K.**

* * *

He opened the door and came in. The lights were out in the parlour, but he could see a candle burning in the bedchamber.

She had fallen asleep on her bed, over the covers, in her robes. Even the hairpins were still in her braids; and he remembered how every night she'd pull them out, ruffle her hair, and make little moans and groans. Sometimes she would ask him to rub her head after a long day. He'd enjoyed the feeling of the heavy thick copper waves run through his fingers.

He sat near her on the bed, and started pulling the pins out. She didn't wake up and sighed in her sleep. His plan to ambush her now seemed cowardly and dishonest. He then adjusted covers on her and blew out the candle. He wanted to lie near her, it was a sharp painful desire. He remembered how her smaller frame fit pressed in him, her back to his chest, and the warmth and serenity her presence gifted him, easing nightmares. Nonetheless, he got up. He stood for a few moments, looking at her, and then left.

* * *

He did get the conversation he'd come for, though - given not in the manner he had expected.

The next morning he was woken up by a loud knock rattling into his door. He rolled off the bed with a grunt. He'd just started opening the door, when she pushed her way inside, and immediately shut the door behind her.

"You were in my room last night!" she hissed at him. She was shaking in obvious rage. "You came lurking into my bedchamber! Like a thief! You touched me!"

Thorin stared at her taken aback. She took another step forward, and pointed her finger into his face.

"How dare you? I told you to never come into my rooms again." She looked livid and completely mad. "What? Is your marble statue of a mistress too cold for you? You aren't getting enough honey there? Did you suddenly remember you had your old ugly wife stuffed somewhere in back rooms?" She was screaming now, and he only felt grateful she'd closed the door. They would've certainly been heard by the whole household otherwise. "Men are indeed like bulls. Legs just bring you back to the old pastures, don't they? - no matter how dry the grass is there." And then she suddenly punched him into the shoulder. "Never do this again, or you will have to recount your teeth! Your perfect Revna isn't the only woman who knows which end of a stick is the heavy one!"

She then turned around to leave, but he caught her upper arm.

It would have been wiser to let her leave. He should've let her calm down, and come to the realization just how outrageous her behaviour was. She had just threatened to attack him! And that was his calm and modest Wrena! Surely, she would come to her senses later.

And yet he was now tightly holding her upper arm in his hand - and she hissed and jerked.

"Let me go!" she sneered, and it seemed she even lifted her right hand to strike him.

"What came over you, Wrena?!" he shouted at her, and gave her a shake. "It is madness! All of it!"

"Let me go, you monster!" she screamed even louder; and indeed she then twisted and punched him into his shoulder. It was an unrestricted painful blow, but he didn't release her. _"_ _Gamlbarathgalt!_ _" Swine._

"Stop it, Wrena!" He grabbed her second arm, just above the elbow, and shook her again. "You're behaving like a rabid dog!"

"I don't care!" she screamed into his face. "You're hurting me! You ruined my life!" She thrashed in his grasp. "I don't care anymore! I don't care..." A sob burst out of her, and she suddenly stopped struggling, and started slumping down. "You're slaying me… Every day... I can't stand this pain anymore..."

She was swaying now and crying desperately, and he led her to the bed and sat her down. He didn't know what to do with a woman in hysterics. It seemed even more confusing, since it was her, the woman he'd never seen crying before. She was hiding her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking, and low bellows wrecking her body.

"Wrena..." He shifted between his feet in front of her, not sure if he should sit near her.

"Go away… Please… Just leave me alone..." she whimpered, between her sobs. "Have some mercy..."

"Wrena, you're in my rooms! And you must be ill! I can't leave you alone in this state." Thorin gave her a bewildered look over.

"Mahal help me, how cruel can you be?!" She lifted her red eyes at him, her face was scrunched in a pitiful grimace. "Leave me some dignity!"

"Wrena, enough with this drama!" Now that she seemed a tad saner, and his fear for her stepped back, he was growing livid. "We should just talk this through, and go back to our life." She was watching him with clouded, forlorn eyes; and he puffed air in indignation.

"I don't have a mistress, Wrena, and never had. I would never break a vow of honour, and you know it. I don't see why you're allowing yourself these delusions..."

"You love her!" she interrupted him with a shout. Thorin clenched his jaws. Not only this was a ridiculous folly, it was also not spoken about! They were no maudlin younglings to squabble over some alleged attentions to another! "You love her! And now that I'm out of the way, you can go to her. Just don't let me see it..." Her face twisted again, and tears rolled over her eyes.

"Wrena, I'm your husband! I gave an oath." Among other things he felt offended to be even thought capable of disloyalty and unfaithfulness. "Revna is an old friend."

At the mention of the other woman's name Wrena jerked and suddenly covered her ears. That was the end of Thorin's rope, and he grabbed one of her elbows and pulled. To make this situation even more bizarre she resisted, trying to keep her ears covered.

"Wrena, what are you doing, in Mahal's name?!"

She dropped her hands and screamed, her eyes suddenly dry and burning, "You drive me mad! I am almost two hundred years old and I behave like I'm thirty! I know it's madness, but I can't help it. And I asked you to leave me alone! I asked you not to come! Why do you have to torture me like this?" She then pushed him away, and rose sharply as well. They were standing in front of each other, both breathing heavily. "I know I shouldn't feel that way, but I can't help it! I tried to pretend… I did..." She pressed her hands to her temples. "I'm ashamed of it… But if you could just let me be… You owe me that much, Thorin..." She looked up at him, and her eyes were pleading. "Please, just let me be..."

"Wrena, I don't understand what you're saying, and to be honest, it's clearly some delirium! We need to cease it now." Thorin chopped the air with his hand. "You accuse me of infidelity - I have committed none. I need you to sober up and go back to being your normal self. And enough of this hollering!" He gave her a glare. "And I demand to be allowed back into our marital bed."

She'd been standing with her head lowered, her arms hanging along her body, and then he saw her shudder.

"No..." The whisper was hardly audible.

"What?"

"No, I can't… let you back. Even if it's true, and you and her didn't…" Her voice broke. She sat heavily on the bed and shook her head. "I can't be your wife anymore… It hurts too much." She rubbed her face with her hands and looked up. Bitter lines lay in the corners of her mouth. "You're right, of course… When I thought of it - actually thought of it - I knew you would not be unfaithful. But it matters not." She shook her head again.

"Wrena, what do you want from me?" Thorin's voice was gaining strength again. "Surely, you do not expect me to stop seeing Revna! That would be preposterous."

"You can see anyone you want," she answered her voice tired now. "I am not your slave driver. And any Dwarf is free to spend time with their friends, and enjoy a conversation, or a training… A Dwarf is even free to love anyone they want." She swallowed, her throat bobbing. "It's just that… you love her, and I love you. You see how this works, Thorin?" Her lips twisted anguishly. "I was stupid enough to… let myself feel this way. Dis told me before the wedding about… Revna, and how it went between you two. And we had a good marriage, didn't we?" A sad smile brushed at her lips. "And I hated how I felt when she came, because I was ruining it. We could've still been happy, but I just couldn't pretend… That is why people should never marry for love. It ruins everything..."

She then looked at him, and chuckled joylessly. "You have such a shocked face right now, and your eyes are glassy. Have I lost you there, in my convoluted explanation?" Thorin watched her, frowning. "The bottom line is that I can't be around you. I… I'm sorry I am behaving like this, and that I'm a burden. But I'm still doing everything my duty asks of me. And you can't say I'm not a good Queen!" she said more firmly. "We just have to find a way to cause little trouble. And… as long you two are discreet..." She didn't finish, and pressed her lips.

Nothing smooth or convincing came to his mind, and he muttered, "But you're my wife."

"I am," she answered softly. "I'm just not your beloved. And I know the duty of a Dwarven wife is to receive her husband, but I can't… I suppose I'm just not dutiful enough."

She got up and wiped her hands on her apron covered thighs. She always did at the end of some hard work, Thorin suddenly thought.

"I apologise for my behaviour," she muttered. She was a Dwarf, remorse came with difficulty to her. "I have only one excuse - I think I'm paying now for years restricting my feelings for you."

"Wrena, you have no reason to restrict yourself. We are married; we have accord. Let's just forget this nonsense..." Thorin said again, but she shook her head.

"I don't want to. I can't… I will always know that you love her..."

"But I don't!" Thorin interrupted, losing his patience. "Would you stop repeating this?! It's as if you enjoy torturing yourself with this..."

"You will never look at me like you look at her." It was her turn to interrupt. "And it's not just her beauty, or her skills, and her manners. Although as parochial of me as it is, I probably would have felt better if you loved a less perfect woman. But I just can't be the good old donkey to pull the cart of this marriage, reliable, and plain, and grey." She gave him another of her melancholic smiles. He always found them disconcerting - the sad eyes made the gesture full of some sort of… hopelessness. "Now that I know that you can look at a woman like that, follow her with your eyes in a feast hall, laugh with her… I saw you in the training yard with her… I never could make you so happy..."

She shook her head and started leaving. She made sure not to touch him when she passed by.

"Wrena..." he called after her, but the door already opened and closed softly behind her.


	5. Talk to Her

Three days later he was distracted during the training, and Revna cut him down with a wooden sword, and he rolled on the ground, twisting his shoulder awkwardly. It had been injured many times previously, and that was where the Defiler's sword had pierced his body; and he groaned in pain, the world momentarily veiled from him by a flash of blinding light.

"Thorin?" She was kneeling near him, one of her hands cupping his jaw; and he blinked purposefully.

"I'm alright, just the… shoulder." He slowly sat up, and she supported him. Her large green eyes were in front of him, worry splashing in them. "I'm alright. My fault..." He rubbed the shoulder, cringing.

"I should have been more careful," she said remorsefully, and sat near him on the ground. "But you are distracted. What is it, nadad?" Her tone was soft, and she tilted her head, looking into his eyes.

"It's nothing… Just lots on my mind."

"Thorin, I know you are not a Dwarf to confide easily in anyone… And I'm nothing by a relation of yours, but… Is it Wrena? Something is wrong between you two, isn't it?"

Thorin thought shortly to tell her - of how Wrena told him to never come to her; of some mad accusations that she'd made. After all, Revna was a woman, and perhaps could shed some light on it. She was a reasonable Dwarf after all - unlike Wrena these days. But then he remembered that Wrena's recent delusions pertained to Revna directly.

"It's nothing," he grumbled, and wanted to rise, but Revna pressed her hand into his healthy shoulder firmly.

"Thorin, I have known you for years, and something tells me you don't know what is happening. But we can all see it. The two of you are cold to each other, and I was under the impression that was not the marriage you had had."

"No, it wasn't. But she is unhappy in it, and there is nothing I can do about it," he answered. "I do not want to speak of it, Revna."

"She is not… the easiest woman to understand, Thorin." Apparently, Revna insisted on having this awkward conversation. "She is sort of… quiet, and one could think she lacks a spark."

"Oh she has plenty of that," Thorin scoffed. He still couldn't get over Wrena throwing the clay mug into his head! And that was the woman who had never raised a voice at him, unlike many other Dwarven wives!

"I admire her, Thorin," Revna said suddenly. "I had just a few years of being a wife, and I can tell you it is an endeavour like no other. And she'd been at your side through the exile; waited behind, when you went to a quest; and built a life for your kin in the Mountain."

"You don't need to remind me of my wife's merits, Revna," Thorin said sharply. "I'm well-aware of them." Somehow Revna speaking of Wrena felt unpleasant - after all, Wrena was his business, and not Revna's.

"All I'm saying is that I don't imagine she would complain if something were to bother her. Perhaps, you should ask her what it is that is amiss in her life."

"I have!" Thorin didn't like his own defensive tone. "She answered with a long diatribe, and it made no sense!" He decided to omit the fact that Revna had been mentioned in the said diatribe.

"Even if it seemed unreasonable to you, it doesn't mean you should ignore it, Thorin. If she's discomforted, you need to address it. Don't you want her to be happy?"

Thorin studied the woman's face. Why couldn't Wrena be this calm and wise? She had been before - she had been his advisor, his right hand, his loyal supporter. And now all he got from her was tears, and complaints, and some preposterous accusations.

Revna turned away, and her eyes idly roamed the grounds.

"She accused me of loving another..." Thorin said quietly.

"Do you?" Revna asked without turning. He shortly wondered whether she knew whom the conversation with Wrena had been about - and then he asked himself what answer Revna was hoping to hear to her question.

"No, of course not," he answered. "She is my wife. I have given my oath."

"It is not always enough," Revna said pensively, and faced him. He saw the long black lashes flutter. "Sometimes a woman wants more. Some women want… all of their husband. The mind, the heart, not just him staying out of the sense of duty… Wrena strikes me as a fire mountain - calm on the outside, with fire burning inside."

"Well, if she's a fire mountain, she had finally erupted," Thorin grumbled, and Revna laughed quietly.

"Has she singed your beard and brows, Thorin, son of Thrain?" He couldn't help but chuckle in response. Her face grew solemn again. "If this is indeed what torments her, you need to sort out your head then. Either let her be - staying away from you probably hurts her less; or make it known to your wife that she is in possession of all of you."

She then rose and patted his shoulder. He looked up at her beautiful face, her silver strands falling like a frozen waterfall, framing her features.

"Just be honest with her. She has deserved that much. She'd been married to an heir of Durin for a hundred years, she gets a wee bit of leeway." Revna gave him an impish smile.

"You paint us as a burden to endure," he answered her in a feigned irked tone.

"You are!" she laughed. "And Frerin was. It is easy to forget now, to turn him into a cherished memory of a perfect man, but he was as perceptive when it came to my needs as Dain Ironfoot's hog."

Thorin stared at her, and she grinned. "What? Did you have a different impression? Let me guess, the two of us are this perfect picture of love, and youth, and purity in your mind." Thorin couldn't say she was wrong. "We fought all the time. He was neglectful, I was moody and demanding. We were young then, Thorin. And you were too!" She pointed at him with her index finger. "You hold on to those memories, preserving them like a dried flower in a book. It has been years, Thorin, and most of what you remember isn't even true, probably. Unlike you present life, your wife, and your children." She pressed her hand to her throat, and he saw tears glisten in her eyes. "You have something wonderful here, nadad. Cherish it while it lasts."

She drew a sharp breath, smiled to him through tears, and left. Thorin sat, rubbing his shoulder, mulling over her words.

* * *

Another four days later, after dinner, he knocked at the door of Wrena's study. She'd said at the table that she was to work on her correspondence before bedtime.

She allowed him entrance, and he came in. She was sitting at the table, and he saw her throw him a cautious look over her glasses.

"May I sit?" he asked, and she pointed at the chair across from her with her quill.

He sat down, exhaled slowly, and gave her a direct calm look.

"I don't… don't love Revna." He paused and watched her face attentively. She grew sharply pale, but otherwise didn't express in any way that she'd heard him. "I was infatuated with her when I was young. I harboured some feelings for her even after Frerin died, but she was… something to remember him by. They were sort of... the same thing..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know how to explain it better. Out of us two you can put emotions into words better."

He threw her a hopeful look, but she didn't smile. Her eyes were still cold and guarded, and he saw her lips were pressed in a stern line.

"And I never wanted to hurt you," he added quietly. "Or make you jealous."

"I was never jealous," she answered sharply. "Jealousy is disrespectful. You aren't my property." She pursed her lips again.

"Nothing ever happened between us, Wrena. Not now, not before."

She shook her head, and orange curls jumped around her face. "I don't want to know, or talk about it, Thorin."

"But don't you see, Wrena? We have nothing to fight about!" he exclaimed, and leaned ahead in his chair. "Wrena…"

"You just don't understand it, Thorin. It never was about Revna! It is about me!" She scoffed, "You can think it is some sort of mental affliction of mine, the age perhaps..." She twirled her finger near her temple. "But I just can't go on like this… Something just broke in me. I just don't want to be this commodity..." She exhaled through rounded lips and met his eyes. "I am three springs short of two hundred, Thorin. I've completed all a Dwarf needs to do in their life. I ruled, bore your heir, gave you a daughter. And now I want to just be… me."

Of course, irritation was the first to fill him. It was this vague palaver again. And then he saw that she picked up her quill again, clearly expecting him to get up and leave. Except, he wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Can't you be you and my wife at the same time?"

Her hand on the parchment halted, and she lifted her eyes at him.

"What do you want, Thorin?" she asked in a tired voice, and her lips twitched in irritation. "I understand you find your current family life inconvenient, but just wait for a few years, and the lack of marital duties will bother you less and less." Her tone was venomous.

He barked a laugh, and saw her give him an astonished look. She clearly expected a different reaction. "I didn't know you had such a sharp tongue." He gave her a grin, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Well, you never bothered to find out, did you?"

"I suppose not," he agreed lightly. She gave him another of her cautious looks, head slightly tilted, like a bird's. "I want to find out now."

She watched him pensively, pressing and unpressing her lips. They were bright red, and he suddenly craved them. In the solitude of their bedroom she had always been quite fond of long busses - and he never found himself wishing for them to end, or turn into other activities.

"It is quite late for it, isn't it, Thorin?"

"I would think it is quite a favourable time," he drew out. "Like you said, we have fulfilled our duties; we have brought three Khazad into this world; the Kingdom is peaceful and prosperous… Perhaps, we can spare some time to other pursuits."

She continued giving him a mistrustful look, and he just sat letting her study his face.

"Is this some sort of an old man's folly, Thorin?" she asked, and jerkily took off her glasses. "Are you bored in your dotage?"

Thorin couldn't help another guffaw.

"This is the second time you've insulted me in the course of ten minutes, Wrena! First, I'm called impotent, now - senile." He shook his head, and gave her a mischievous look from under a raised eyebrow.

She made her usual huffing noise. "I'm just seeking for a reason behind your behaviour. You don't seem yourself."

"Maybe you don't know me that well," he answered, and it was her turn to give him a sardonic look.

"Do I now? I think I know you quite well. You're unhappy, mostly because you can't stand when your routine gets uprooted. You had a convenient compliant wife, and your bed was warm. And now it's all gone. And you tried to roar; then you brooded, but neither worked." She followed each of her statements with a tap of a finger on the table. "So, now you are trying cunning. You think you will spare me a few kind words; and I will put down my axe."

Thorin couldn't say any of the above was false.

"Don't you want to put down your axe and come back?" he asked, thinking her knew her answer.

"No," she answered firmly and quickly. "I don't. I'd rather sleep alone than…" She waved her small hand in the air, searching for words. "Than be this… comfortable, unexcited… bed warmer." She lowered her eyes, and aimlessly shifted papers on her table. "And again, it's not about you looking at another woman. It's about you never looking like that at me. You have the right to have loved and love another; or never love anyone. I have the right to live the rest of my life with the choices I had made."

"Such as marrying me - are these the choices that you mean?" he asked taken aback. "Do you now regret it?!"

Her fingers danced on the table, and then she sighed.

"No, of course not. I'm being malicious." She lifted her eyes at him; they were clouded with sadness. "I would never regret our years together, and our children. I just wish… I wish I never loved you." She shrugged, and picked up her quill. "You should go, Thorin. I do not wish to start an argument, and I feel I'm being disagreeable."

Thorin rose and left without a word. He felt he hadn't advanced in solving his predicament even a tad.


	6. Broken Dummy

"Well, judging by the poor state of these dummies, your mood has not improved," Revna's voice came from the entrance to the grounds. Thorin kicked aside the head of one the said dummies, maimed and scattered on the ground, and threw his wooden sword aside.

"I'm not in the mood for training today," Thorin grumbled.

"I'm not sure we have anything to train with," Revna jested, and came up to the bench he'd sat down at. He pressed his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head. Sweat ran down his cheekbone, and he brushed it off in irritation. His body ached; he'd been raging and hacking for the past two hours.

"May I sit with you?" Revna asked; and he wanted her to leave, but decorum didn't allow him any other answer but to point at the bench in an invitation.

A mug of water appeared before his face; and he took it and downed it. It made pain bloom behind his brow and as if drum into his temples; and he pushed the mug onto the bench.

"Thorin..." she called to him softly; and he was going to rise and leave, but she placed her hand on his forearm, halting him. "Have you spoken to Wrena?"

He bared his teeth, and made a frustrated noise.

"I have, just as you told me," he growled to her. "I went and tried to make peace with her."

"Thorin, I never told you to go to talk to her," Revna said with a small laugh. "Firstly, no one tells you what to do. Secondly, I merely said you should try to think what bothers her; and what you could do to address it..."

"She's gone mad, that's what bothers her!" he sharply interrupted. "She said something about me not loving her enough, and something else… And it all made no sense! She sent me away, and told me to leave her alone."

"Well, perhaps you should," Revna drew out.

"Perhaps, I will!" he bit back, and she laughed even more.

"I don't think you will. Look what you've done to these poor lads." She gestured around the limbs and wooden slivers around them. "I think you can't stand the present state of your marriage. I also think that you barged onto her, and demanded and roared, which hardly looks like the best strategy with Lady Wrena."

Thorin scoffed, "You know nothing. I spoke calmly. I made mawkish statements. I asked her to come back." He didn't know himself why he was suddenly pouring his heart to her. "She called me old and senile, and told me to leave."

"What exactly did you say? In those mawkish statements of yours?" She gave him a soft smile.

"Well, whatever circumstances called for! About us being man and wife, and… I don't remember now, Revna!" He got up, and jerked his shoulder. It ached again.

He wasn't leaving though. It was confusing, having all these tangled thoughts and emotions; and not having Wrena around was making it only difficult - but if asked, he'd say that he was standing in this yard like a blithering idiot, because Revna was the only one he could speak about his predicament to. She sat silently, her face serene, warm expression in her eyes.

"How am I supposed to mend this if she's not saying what bothers her?" he muttered, and gave Revna a dark look.

She thankfully didn't scorn or mock, and just nodded softly.

"I'm certain she is. You just can't… hear it. Because it is something you can't understand. You're a good man, Thorin. I'm sure, if you could understand it, you would have done it long ago."

Thorin groaned, and sat back on the bench. "See? This is exactly the palaver I can't stand!" He chopped the air with his hand. "I am at fault whatever I do. And since I'm an oaf and can't understand what it is, I never will!"

Revna turned on the bench and gave him an attentive look. "What was it exactly that she said?"

"She said I… I never looked at her in some way. I don't know what this way is! And something about her being a donkey in this marriage and pulling a cart, and being grey and convenient. And a bed warmer!"

"What about a bed warmer?" Revna was pressing his lips to suppress a smile, and he had a suspicion he was the end of this joke.

"She said she was a bed warmer." Thorin gave up on all attempts at preserving his dignity, and gave Revna a pitiful look. "It doesn't make any sense."

"It does make perfect sense to her." Revna shook her head. "I don't know what aggravates her, Thorin. You have to find it out yourself. There are many things that women crave and not receive in their marriage. Some need solstice after their day troubles; some need their husbands' support in their duties; some need to talk; some need silence."

"But we had all that! Everything was well! We ruled together; we decided together. We have our children! Everything was well," he stubbornly repeated, "Until..." He bit his tongue.

"Until what?"

Thorin couldn't bring himself to say it was her, she was the root of the problem. After all, it was absurd.

"Until she started saying I never loved her, and..." he trailed away awkwardly.

"Then you need to tell her you have indeed always loved her, and still do."

Thorin pressed his lips. The conversation was most annoying, but then he thought of how cold and distant Wrena had been - and he decided he needed to try harder.

"I have tried, but..." He cleared his throat. "She said it wasn't enough for her; and that she just wanted to live the rest of her life in peace."

Revna gave him another of her soft nods. "Maybe you should let her."

"But I need her! I need her back!" He jumped to his feet, embarrassed of his maudlin outburst, and glared at the Dwarf. "All this… flimflam! She's just being stroppy; I let her jerk my leash; and you're encouraging it!"

"Oh, I am at fault as well here?" She laughed, and he felt livid.

"You are! It certainly wasn't me who made her think we're having an affaire!"

Revna froze, and the smile slowly dropped off her face. "Mahal help me," she breathed out. "Has she truly thought?.. You need to tell her it's not true!" She jumped to her feet as well. "You need to tell her!"

"I have, and many times! She… she doesn't believe me." Thorin exhaled, and wiped his forehead. "She saw what she wanted to see, and none of my words convince her."

Revna pressed her hands to her chest. "It's all those rumours, I'm certain! Of all those years ago, when I stayed in the Blue Mountains! Someone had poured those despicable lies into her ears!"

"No one poured anything in her ears! She just imagined it all! She went as far as saying we could continue our dalliances, as long as she didn't see it. What sort of insanity is this?" He huffed angrily.

"Thorin!" Revna flailed her small white hand. "If she said we could continue, it means she thinks it's been going on for years! And is still happening now!"

"And I told her it isn't!" Thorin was now almost shouting. "And she changed her tune then and said that even if so, I still didn't love her enough!"

"Mahal, are you blind? She thinks you have loved another for all these years, and are still infatuated! Her whole life looks empty and pointless right now." Her lips twisted in anguish. "Imagine finding out now that through the hundred years she's been your wife and the mother of your children, she'd loved another; dreamt of him; imagined him instead of you every time you touched her! How would you feel?!"

It was certainly an unfamiliar effort - to try on another Dwarf's shoes - but Thorin tried. And he didn't enjoy the result.

"Thorin, everything you had seems like a lie to her right now. She'd been content with your marriage, hadn't she? Before… before I came." Revna's voice trembled. "She must despise me so much… And I have trying to be closer to her, asked her to go to the market with me… She was so cordial, so even with me. She lent me her seamstress. I must have seemed so double-faced to her!"

"Be grateful she didn't smash a mug into your head," Thorin grumbled.

"Thorin! Can't you see, it isn't about whether we're having an affair right now! It's about her thinking you've always wanted to!" Revna grabbed his upper arm.

"No, I don't see!" he as much as yelled at her, twisting out of her grasp. "I don't understand these conniptions that you two are having! It's all delusions and idle talk! I've been faithful and a good husband to her!"

"That's not enough for her, and wouldn't be enough for many women! Mahal, I understand now!" She pressed her hand to the forehead. "The bed warmer… She thinks you've settled with her, lived with her out of duty. You were a good husband, I don't doubt it; but have you been a good lover?"

That was the limit of Thorin's patience.

"I'm not discussing it with you, Revna!" He turned to leave, but the third time in one day she didn't let him.

"No, no, you need to hear what I'm saying! I'm not asking about your… intimacy. Mahal forbid me, it's the last thing I want to ponder!" She was holding his sleeve. "All I'm saying… Wait, I'll find the words you'd understand." Thorin clenched his jaw. Now he was considered dim, apparently! "You said you needed her back. You want her back. What is it that is amiss, Thorin? Surely, it's not that your bed is cold!"

Thorin glared at her, and pulled at the sleeve. She didn't waver.

"Thorin!"

"No, it's not the cold bed," he gritted through his teeth.

"Well, what is it? Think about it!" She waited, but of course he wasn't going to discuss it with her! "And Thorin, if it's just some everyday inconveniences, something mundane, you need to leave her at peace then! Because she deserves to be left alone if those are clean tunics, or someone to talk to at dinner, that you're missing!"

She tugged at his sleeve. "Thorin, listen to me." He was growing tired of her verbosity, but he stayed and listened. "I imagine you haven't paid much attention to her through years. She has always been around, and could always rely on her. And it is what makes a good wife, and you were content! And she thought it was all you wanted and needed; and she was content as well. But then she thought she saw something different in you! She thought you could be infatuated enough to give up your oath! That you could put love above your duties! And she thought that all these years she hadn't been good enough for you to be that man with her! That is what it is all about."

She waved her hand in the air tiredly. "I will not bore you with my talking anymore, but think, properly think about it. If the situation was reversed, if she was the other woman, would you be enthralled enough to break your vows?"

"She is my wife! I don't need to break vows. She is my wife," he repeated, each word separate. Hypotheticals were taxing.

"Not now she isn't. Right now she's the woman you lost. Try to remember all those times she was beautiful at a feast, when she was holding your child; or your people looked at her with reverence… All of this is gone. You still have a wife, but you lost her, all that is behind that facade. Don't you miss it?"

Somewhere in the sea of ridiculous pompous words that she'd just poured at him, he had to say, one thought struck a chord. It had been that cursed feast of the Summer Fest. He knew - and regretted - how much he desired Revna then. But there had indeed been feasts when it was Wrena that his eyes had strayed to. She was an excellent dancer; and she always led lively, engaging conversations with their guests; and he admired her. Desire for her would rise in him - it was an even warm flame - he knew they would respose together, and he would satisfy it. He searched his memory. There had been that one dress, of dark green, with a low cut, and some soft white lace. She seemed to have worn it for several years, on festive occasions; and there was something different about the sleeves. He couldn't remember now, but something would always make him more aroused when she'd worn it. He remembered taking it off her, and how she laughed. Perhaps, she'd even teased him about it.

Revna had released him and quietly left; and he sat down on the bench again, rubbing his shoulder, and grumbling under his nose.


	7. Take Me Back

**Author's Note: **

**Please have a look into my blog kolmakov dot ca for the newest post to find out what else I'm doing, and what else of mine you could read here and there :) I'd really love to see you on my Wattpad page! **

**Also, some stories were updated on AO3, which I don't post here, such as "Hunting Cottage" (remember, the 1920s hilarious smut? I thought it would fit AO3 better; and I've just posted a new chapter! :D)**

 **Hope you enjoy the angst here, and find something else of mine to read! :)**

 **Cheers,**

 **Katya**

* * *

The ridiculous conversation with Revna had had one prominent and disturbing result - he now couldn't stop looking at Wrena. If before his hunger and his desire had been of vague sort, like that affliction one experienced giving up a habit - now he would look and remember. They still sat together at dinners. He could see the neck, the shoulders, the chest rising in inhales - and he remembered the body under the dresses. She would joke and laugh with others, and he remembered when she would laugh at his jest. He knew her body well, he just never seemed to have paid much attention - but now he saw the small hands on the table, and remembered them on his skin.

Autumn had started. It was the busiest time of the year, they needed to prepare for the long winter. Everyone was preoccupied, and tempers rose. Dis, who had always been cold and pointedly polite towards Revna was now hardly veiling her critical remarks.

Wrena was missing dinners. One evening Thorin asked about her, and Dis explained that it was Wrena's habit to visit their youngest child before the evening meal, and Wrena probably would just fall asleep in his room. Thorin nodded, and then after the meal he went to the kitchens, asked for a tray of food, and went to search for his wife.

She was indeed asleep in Dain's room. She was lying on a settee near his cot, her knees pulled to her chest, covered with a quilt. He knocked at the next door, to the nursemaid's room. The young Dwarf opened and curtseyed.

"I'm going to wake up the Queen. You should go to the prince's bedroom." The girl nodded, picked up a shawl, and the two of them returned to Dain's chamber.

Thorin looked into the cot and smile. The fiery curls were scattered around the boy's head, and the first freckles were already peppering the small nose. Thorin then put the tray on the table, scooted, and touched Wrena's shoulder. She muttered something in her sleep; and one eye opened.

"Wake up, Wrena. We're going to eat."

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She then saw the maid, and threw him a glare. She couldn't rebuke him in front of the girl - just as Thorin had expected.

She then rose, threw the last look at the sleeping babe, and left. Thorin picked up the tray and followed.

Once the door closed behind them, and she opened her mouth to no doubt tell him, he picked up her elbow and escorted her into her study. She didn't protest, but the storm was clearly brewing behind her brow.

He softly pushed her towards her desk and placed the tray in front of her. She apparently decided that she was not speaking to him, broke off a piece of bread, and started chewing. He walked away from her and sat in an armchair by the wall. She threw him a dark glare, and picked up a spoon to start on her stew.

"What was that dress you used to have?" he asked, and she choked on the food. "It was green, I think. There was something about the sleeves there."

She chewed and swallowed, her widened eyes fixed on him.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, spoon mid air.

"You had a dress, still in the Blue Mountains. It was green. I liked you in it." He gave her a small smile. "There was something about the sleeves, something… frilly."

She put down the spoon, still looking astonished.

"Are you inebriated?" she asked, and he shook his head. "I think you're referring to a - light blue - dress I had, just before we had Unna. It had slits on the upper arms, and in some you could see the lace, and in some bare skin."

"Ah, indeed. Now I remember. Why don't you wear it anymore?"

She tilted her head and gave him a patronising look. "What is this conversation, Thorin? Of all the things in the world, you manage to get stuck on the idea of my old dress. And I don't wear it anymore since I didn't fit in it after I bore the second child." She gestured around her chest, and picked up her spoon again. "And I didn't look good in it. It was too ornate for plain old me. Like you said, frilly."

"Well, I liked it," he answered. She threw him a quick glance, and immediately dropped her eyes to the plate.

A few minutes of silence followed, and then she sighed.

"What are you doing here, Thorin?"

"I was worried you haven't eaten," he asked honestly.

"You could have sent a maid," she said, and he chuckled.

"I haven't thought of it." He indeed hadn't. She picked up her glass and took a small sip.

"Well, I'm grateful for your care, whatever reason is behind it," she said haughtily.

"I'm happy to offer it," he answered according to the rules of politeness; and she immediately narrowed her eyes at him.

"Are you mocking me?"

"I wouldn't dare. There's a mug on your tray," he said, and pointed with his eyes at the dishes in front of her.

"I have already apologized for my behaviour," she grumbled. He nodded and smiled to her. She looked sleepy, and grouchy. Few plaits in her hair had unbraided.

She pulled out a pin and scratched the back of her head, wrinkling her nose, her face irked.

"Are you planning to sit and watch me eat?" she asked, throwing the pin on the desk. "Since you're here, we should at least discuss the provisions for the Lower Halls then. It'll save me a trip to your study tomorrow."

He agreed, and scooted with the armchair closer to her desk. She ate; he read the parchments. From time to time she'd point at something in her ledger with the spoon, commenting on some numbers. After the meal was done, she pushed the tray aside, moved her chair closer, and leaned over the papers scattered on the desk.

She'd taken off her usual apron; and he could see the collarbones, and the soft white skin, and a shadow lying in the hollow between her breasts. A few grey and copper strands curled on the neck; and she kept brushing them aside with the other end of her quill.

And he leaned ahead, and caught the familiar fragrance of those flowers she had pressed between her garments; and then while she was still talking about the boats arriving from Esgaroth, he cupped her jaw. She stilled, seemingly holding her breath; and he saw the widened eyes.

"Wrena..." His voice was disobedient; not that he knew what to say if he could. He saw the pale throat move spasmodically. "Wrena… Please..."

Her lashes fluttered, and he held his breath, wondering if she would move away. She didn't, and her lips twitched. He knew because he was now looking at them.

He didn't know if he was allowed a kiss, so he looked up again, meeting her gaze. She was staring at him - but she wasn't recoiling.

He leaned in and tasted her lips. He wanted to rush, and pull her to him; but he made himself go slow and savour the touch and the flavour. He didn't want to scare this accepting mood of hers away. There was still a chance she'd reject him.

She didn't. She was breathing faster and faster; the warm soft lips trembled under his; and then she shifted closer, and a small hand lay on the side of his neck.

He decided that he was allowed; and he stretched his hands to her, and picked her up under her arms. He pulled her onto his lap, without tearing his lips off hers. The kiss was now greedy; and teeth scraped at teeth.

And then his mind clouded; and he squeezed her, jerked her into himself. He kissed and bit; first the lips, then the neck; and then he hooked his finger on the collar and yanked it. There was that muscle between the neck and the shoulder; he had enjoyed it; and remembered it, and growled because the undertunic was in the way. He jerked it as well, and sank his mouth onto the skin. She gasped, and jolted in his arms.

"Thorin..." He couldn't tell if she was protesting, or asking for more. He was going mad; inebriated; from desire and hunger.

Everything seemed clearer and sharper than ever before - not that his mind lingered on the past for long. He just noticed how smooth the skin was; and how she arched into him; and then he stopped noticing anything else.

* * *

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of her study. The first sensation he realized was that his naked backside was quite comfortable on something soft. He touched with his hand, and realised it was some silk undergarment of hers, probably that gauzy underskirt she wore under her dresses. They'd pulled it off her, and the bloomers as well. She was lying near, her head on his chest. His doublet was gone; and he could feel the warmth of her hand through his tunic. He glanced; she had her eyes closed. The bodice of her dress was open; and the skirts were bunched up. He looked at the round pale knee of her left leg, bent, lying across his thighs.

His trousers were around his ankles; he considered adjusting them, but his body felt pleasantly tired, and he didn't want to move. He looked at her again, and then she peeked at him with one eye. He wanted to ask whether what they had just done meant everything was well now, but instead he just continued staring at her.

"You do not look contented," she said, pressed her hand into his chest, and sat up turning her back to his. She started picking up her hair that they had disheveled beyond measure.

"I am contented. I'm just… worried you will now throw me out," he attempted to jest. Her fingers halted. "Wrena?"

"Depends what you came here for," she answered in a prickly voice.

"I came to bring you dinner," he answered helplessly. If she started another of her word games, he was going to lose, and quickly. She threw him an unreadable look over her shoulder. He sat up with a jerk. "Wrena..." Her bare shoulder - the sleeve of the dress had slid down - was in front of his nose, and he pressed his forehead to it.

She was silent, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, and pressed her in. He rummaged in his mind in search of something to say - something to convince her, to let her know how much he wanted her back. Nothing seemed to come to mind.

She sighed; and shimmied her shoulders, trying to free herself. He didn't want to let her go - but he did.

She adjusted her dress - and he understood that they would now just go back to the misery of the last moons.

"Wrena..." he tried again. He had to try! For a few magnificent moments there, she was back to being his Wrena. Her hands had been wandering his shoulders, nails would sink in his skin; she had moaned and seemed to enjoy him; and she returned his kisses; and met his movements. She smiled to him at some point, closer to the end; and he could still see that beaming, loving smile.

She turned to him, and he saw bitter unhappy line of her lips.

What could he say? Or more so, what did he need to say to make her see it his way now?

"It's alright, Thorin. It happens. We're both adults; and… Well, we are used to coming to each other for this pleasure." She shrugged. "Just don't make a habit of it."

So, she saw it quite differently then.

"I think you should go now," she muttered, and started getting up. He caught her wrist.

"Wrena, take me back." He somehow had trouble speaking up. "Take me back, please."

She frowned and sat back down. "Thorin, don't make it difficult, please. And painful… It'll just hurt us both - you asking, and me refusing you."

"But you are wrong!" He tilted his head, seeking her eyes. "You have been wrong from the start. Not about being unhappy, or… Maybe, I was not that good for you..." He was tangling in his words. She made a small grimace, as if hinting that it had been an understatement. "But I have loved you. Always. And we still have time! We have years ahead of us, and we can make them good."

She studied his face. She had remarkable eyes, bright, with irises of fire opal; and right now facets of orange and green seemed to dance in them, as if following her bouncing thoughts.

She then sighed, and twisted her hand, and squeezed his fingers in an absent-minded, comforting gesture.

"I will consider it, aye?" she said in a tired tone. "We do have years ahead of us, and we need to make the best of them. And it had been hard for me as well. To live alone... And now look where it led me..." She waved towards the floor. "Maybe, you're right. What's the point of crying over the spilt milk? It is not as if we could rewrite all those years… We might as well go to the good old rut. At least we know we make good partners."

He took his hand out of her fingers, and tried to embrace her. She resisted.

"I haven't agreed yet, Thorin," she muttered irkedly.

"I haven't offered anything yet, Wrena," he grumbled, and she gave him a confused look. "I didn't offer you to go back to our old marriage. I simply asked you to accept me. As a man, not as a… bed warmer." He returned her her old remark, with a pointed glance; and she pressed her lips sternly.

"I don't understand..."

 **To be continued…**


	8. A Trip

"Wrena, I'm not saying you weren't unhappy, or that I did nothing wrong…"

He felt that walking with all bones shattered in his leg, like he had in the fight with Azog, would feel less painful and make him overcome with less helplessness than trying to tell her what he thought at the moment - but he still had her flavour on his lips; his hands still remembered the smooth and warm skin from a few instants ago; and most of all, for a short while, the world had been the right side up just now! That was she'd always been - the anchor. She was right perhaps; maybe he had only appreciated the results of her work before - not her herself… but now he did! He wanted her back! He needed her back! His life continued to be comfortable, and fulfilling - but it was empty!

"You know me, I know nothing of these things…" he muttered, and gave her a searching look. "If you say I have been a bad husband for you, so it is."

"You never have. And I've never claimed it." Her face was cold; and he felt even more frustrated.

"Alright, but… If Revna hadn't come, we would have continued happily. And all I'm saying is that you shouldn't doubt. I'd never be unfaithful. And she's just a memory of youth… and…"

"Oh Mahal, do you ever listen to anything I say? It has nothing to do with Lady Revna!" She jerked, and trying to scutter and rise, and he touched her arm, not grabbed, in fear of angering her more, but almost begging. She narrowed her eyes at him, and gritted through her teeth, "You were infatuated with her when young. I knew of that. Dis took me aside when she arrived to negotiate the proposal. She said it had been a folly of the youth, and that it would pass. She said you needed a wife that would be loyal, honest, and undemanding. She said you were cold, and unfeeling, and easy to irritate. Mahal, it almost felt as if she had tried to talk me out of it. I swore to her no one would do a better job than me." She lifted her chin haughtily. "And I have. And what does it matter that Revna is here? You think you looking at her with admiration hurt me?" Her voice rose, and she pushed his hand away. "It had nothing to do with my worth! I am not jealous!"

"A hundred years is a long time, Thorin!" she continued. "If your eyes and thoughts hadn't strayed at least once in those years, it would have meant you were either impotent, or dead. It's only when one is young, it seems love means seeing only one person in the whole world."

She got up and smoothed out her skirt. "Do you truly think I've never looked at another man in all these decade and wondered what it would have been like? What it would be like to be… desired? To be the one?" Her lips trembled, but she took her voice under control. "I've said it to you many times by now, but you can't seem to hear. You can spend time with her, you can even love her and lust after her. It takes nothing from me."

She once again ran her hands over her skirt, and shook her head. "It is just that… I look back at my life now, and I see how stupid I have been. All these years I've been telling myself I was content, happy in my duties of the queen and the mother. But the blithering idiot that I was, it turns out now that I was hoping… Nay, I was pretending that there was something else to our marriage. And I don't want to pretend anymore."

"I will consider your offer for us to live together again," she finished, "But I would not be too hopeful if I were you."

She then threw him one last look, and left the study.

Thorin got up as well, and pulled up his trousers. It felt strange to stand in her study alone, but instead of leaving, he walked up to her desk. Except for the papers they'd been working on were scattered on the table, the shelves around and the desk itself were organized and neat. On the other end of the table he saw a draft of a letter to the Iron Hills infirmary. It was crossed, and rewritten several times; some parts outlined and arrows pointing where they were to be moved in the clean version. In the corner, he saw a small drawing. Some small flowers, gathered in a small bunch, like a cone, were drawn with the same ink; he assumed she sketched the small petals and blossoms while pondering the letter. The flower was of the same kind as the dry ones scattered between her linen. He didn't know she drew.

* * *

In two weeks' time, he took a two day trip to the Grey Mountains without explaining anything. He took Dwalin with him, since the Dwarf never asked any questions. They'd set up everything Thorin deemed necessary; and returned to Erebor.

The next day at breakfast, it was hard to catch the right moment, since everyone seemed to be in especially quarrelsome mood. Dis and Revna were exchanging venomous remarks; the children whined; Balin and Dwalin were arguing about yet another of their card games; Wrena hardly ate, pale and apathetic. He assumed she hadn't slept well. Thorin considered postponing his scheme's execution; but the decision had already been made, and he had no habit of renegading.

At a rare moment of relative silence at the table, he announced, making sure to be heard over the noise, "After the meal, the Queen and I are leaving for a few days. So, if there are matters you need to settle with her, you better do it quickly." He rose, without looking at Wrena. "The ponies are saddled; I'll be in the Northern courtyard in two hours."

Just as he'd expected, when he went up the stairs to the Northern Gate Hall, she was already there, bundled up in a travel cloak. Earlier that morning, he'd ordered her maids to pack the Queen's belongings, enough for a fortnight of staying in bare circumstances. Their sacks had been loaded on their usual ponies. Wrena silently mounted her pony, and they rode out.

He expected her to start yelling as soon as the gates closed behind them; but she kept cold and proud silence for almost half an hour. He assumed she was cautious to avoid anyone to be able to observe the scene from the walls.

She then rode aside, in a small grove, and dismounted. He followed her example.

"Are you out of your Dwarven mind?!" She'd been right to have waited; her voice truly carried. "What is this?! I have never been that humiliated in my life! Right in front of everyone! I had no means to protect myself, to say 'no.'" That was quite the point, but Thorin knew mentioning it would only make her rage more. "I had to lie to my children that it was some sort of a state trip; but of course, adults didn't believe me! Where are we going?! What sort of madness is this?!"

He stood without answer, and she stepped forward, her face twisted in fury. "Answer me this instant! Or I will just ride back, and all decorum be damned, I won't even bother explaining where the King happens to be!"

"We are going to stay in the Grey Mountains for a few days," he answered calmly.

"Why? And where?! There is nothing in the Mountains, not at least in the direction we're heading! There are abandoned caves there, from the Second Age…" She paused, and gave him a confused look.

"Dwalin and I have set a camp in one of the caves. Enough for you and I to stay for a few days."

"Why?!"

"Because you and I need to… stay together for some time. Alone."

This time she just opened and closed her mouth, but said nothing. She then stomped back to her pony, jumped into the saddle, and spurred it - to ride back to the Mountain. Thorin had prepared for such turn of events as well. He lunged ahead, grabbed the rein of the pony, and Wrena's wrist - and then the cuff on one end of naiblili-lansel clicked.

He pulled, making the pony halt, and then she saw the cuff. She barked a swearing, and he quickly released her and closed the second shackle around his left wrist. The thin mithril chain glistened in the Autumn sun.

She lunged at him right out of the saddle, with an enraged shout. That he hadn't been prepared for, and they ended up on the ground. The pony recoiled with frightened snorts.

"Where is the key? Where is the key, you guzg?!" she screamed in his face. He pushed her off him and rolled aside. The chain allowed a few feet between them. After all, even in the Age of the Forefathers, when it was used in marriage ceremonies, naiblili-lansel served only decorative and symbolic purpose.

She jerked the chain; but as strong as she was, she couldn't bulge his weight. He had thought it through, of course.

"Have you gone completely mad?! I'm not a pony! You can't do this to me!" She kept screaming, switching from Common Speech to Khuzdul, and generously peppering her yelling with curses. "Where is the key?!"

"In my study in Erebor."

"We're going back!" She jumped to her feet; the chain went taut; he continued sitting on the ground. "Thorin!"

"We are going to Ered Mithrin."

"Why?! I don't understand! To what end?" She kept pulling; and he considered jerking her towards him, but thought against it. "Why?!" Her voice was starting to break; she looked distressed now, as well as furious.

"We will stay alone for a few days and… settle it. Talking didn't work. Me begging didn't work. We will stay away until we make peace."

She stopped in her tracks, and gaped at him.

"What?! Is this your understanding of solving marital discord?" She was so flabbergasted that words came out in pants. "Are you… what? No! No! You can't do this too me! You can't abuse me this way! I'm your wife! I'm not a slave to be hauled around!"

Thorin slowly rose. "Get your pony, Wrena. We can ride them if we stay close."

"I am not going anywhere with you! You've clearly lost all sense! Are you expecting to abuse me into submission?! Is this what this is?" The chain clanked.

"Get the pony," Thorin gritted through his teeth. His patience barely held.

"No!" she screamed at him, and started flailing her shackled hand. "Let me go!"

Thorin pulled, and twisted his hand, wrapping the chain around it, making her step closer and closer, as much as she was digging her heels into the ground. When close to him, she pressed her hands into his chest. Her eyes were widened.

"You know, I would never mistreat you, so don't insult me, Wrena," he growled at her.

"You are mistreating me now! You're acting against my will, you're forcing me!" She was shaking, but didn't cry. He expected tears; but her eyes were dry and burning.

"We will get to the Mountains by the end of the day if we start out now. So, get your pony, and we're going."

She studied his face for a few seconds; and then dropped her head. He saw a small nod; and he opened his hand letting the chain fall and coil at their feet.

 _ **To be continued...**_


	9. The Chain

When they arrived to the camp Thorin and Dwalin had prepared, it was already dark. Thorin tended to the ponies outside, while Wrena stood to the side, arms crossed on her chest. Since the first conversation, she hadn't said a word. Thorin picked up their sacks, and they went inside.

He'd started the fire; and took out the provisions to cook their dinner.

"You do know it won't work, do you?" she asked in a quiet voice, and he looked up at her from the coffee bubbling in the pot. "You can't possibly expect me to... warm up to you after this!" She gestured around the cave with her free left hand. "You should be so lucky if I don't tell everyone in Erebor of this when we're back."

"You won't," Thorin answered calmly. "You can't stand public humiliation. That's why you went with me in the morning. That's why I decided we need to go away to talk."

"You call this 'going away to talk?!' You abducted me! Do you think being my husband gives you the right to tell me where to go and choose everything for me?"

Thorin gave her a heavy look. "This has nothing to do with being a husband and wife. You keep repeating how dutiful you've been, a mother and a queen. Here, you're neither. Here, it's just the two of us. No duties, no errands, no decorum to fall back on."

She studied his face, frowning; and then she pulled her knees to her chest, and pressed her nose into them. Thorin continued making their dinner.

* * *

He put a plate in front of her on the ground; but if course she didn't even spare him a glance. He was already finishing his sausages, when she finally picked up the fork, and started at her meal.

The cave was small, fully lit up by the campfire. It had probably served as a cabin for the lumberjacks, it being on the edge of a small forest. Dwalin had fixed the door to it, while Thorin was clearing up the vents; and now the inside was growing warmer and warmer. There were two narrow cots by the walls, at the right angle to each other. If they lay heads towards each other, the chain between them would even touch the ground.

"There's a small stream not too far," Thorin said, rolling out their sleeping bags on the cots. "To wash the dishes."

She threw her plate in the basin where he'd put his, metal clanking on metal.

"You go, I'll stay here," she grumbled. He gave her an amused look, but she was back to her brooding and staring at the fire.

He picked up the basin; she rose grudgingly, and they went outside. She once again stood her arms crossed; he washed. It's been ages since he had to do the chores. It felt surprising entertaining, like being on the road again.

He wiped his hands, and lifted the basin, when she pulled at the chain. He threw her a questioning look, and saw her shift between her feet in unease.

"I need..." she muttered, and pointed at the nearest shrubbery with her eyes. Her cheeks were flaming with blush. He nodded, and she dashed in the bushes. She came out in a few minutes, and pulled him towards the stream. "Did you think of bringing soap?" she asked, and he handed her the bag with soaps and brushes.

She scrubbed her hands and washed her face, making funny snorting noises. The water was cold, he'd learnt it by now; but still not too cold to have a bigger wash later, he thought - perhaps the next day. An untimely thought of her body covered in soap suds filled his mind.

When she was ready to go back, it was his turn to pull at the chain.

"Now you wait," he said. She turned away from him with an offended face. They'd never had to face such lack of privacy before; and she looked endlessly uncomfortable. He smirked at the view of how intently she was peering into the darkness over the stream.

Back in the cave, he sat down on the log that had served its previous tenants as a bench, near the fire, and pulled out his pipe. She shook off her cape and boots, climbed in the bag, and turned her back to him. All he could hear was the cracking of the fire, and insects outside.

* * *

The same repeated at breakfast, after which she just sat on her cot, staring at the fire. Then midday meal came; and then hours passed, and it was time to start on dinner. Clearly, Thorin had underestimated her stubbornness.

He'd expected her to scream and rage. He was feeling helpless irritation rise. What was the point of dragging her out here, breaking all possible rules of conduct an honourable Dwarf would never break - and to have her give him the same cold shoulder as she had in Erebor? Couple times his hand had almost strayed to the key in his pocket; but then he reminded himself that if they were to return now, he would lose her completely. Even the excruciating decorous coexisting they'd had before his escapade would be gone.

He plated her dinner and came up to her cot.

"May I sit?" he asked.

"No, you may not." She took the plate and stabbed the sausage with the fork, with unnecessary force.

He took his dinner to his cot; and they started eating. Thorin opened his mouth twice, but no words came. He wondered if they would just stay in this cave while the provisions lasted; then ride home; and then they would go back to passing each other accidentally in halls.

"Shouldn't we talk at least once?" he asked, and she paused her chewing, gave him a derisive look, and bit into a sausage again. She had a funny manner of biting her food with the side of her mouth, like a cat. "Wrena, what I'm trying to say..." He halted, and she put down her fork and gave him an exaggerated expectant look.

"Yes, Thorin?"

"Curse it, I have nothing," he muttered, and picked up his mug from the ground.

"Excellent," she said, and wiped her lips with her handkerchief. "Can we go back to Erebor now?"

"No," he answered. He wasn't certain but he seemed to have detected uncertainty in her eyes. So, she'd been certain he would give up if she kept silent. She was wrong. "We have provisions for a fortnight. We will stay."

"Are you out of your mind? It'll start getting colder and colder each day! I can't stay here! I'm cold at night, and I want a bath."

"You can wash in the stream," he answered levelly. At least now she was talking - given, his ears rang from the sheer volume.

"I will not wash in a stream!" she switched to hissing. "With you standing by and..."

"And what? Looking at you? I've seen you in a bath before." Her nostrils flared, and he lifted his hand with a fork in a defensive gesture. "I will not look, I swear, without your permission."

"You brought me here without my permission! You're keeping me on a chain without my permission. What good is your word now? How am I to know you won't make me undress and dance for your entertainment in that stream?" She spat the venomous words, and hurled the plate into the opposite wall.

Thorin gritted his teeth - but stayed silent. She was right after all. Keeping her here was a crime, and he'd committed it consciously. He had no habit of lying to himself - he hadn't done it in a heat of a moment, or without understand that he was violating her free will.

"I didn't see any other way..." he said, and she whipped her head and glared at him.

"Pardon?"

"I didn't see any other way to make you listen to me. And you would never talk openly to me in Erebor, with all those people around, who could hear the screams, or interrupt..."

"Oh excellent! So, you have anticipated screams, and took precautions," she drew out in a sarcastic tone. "And I have talked to you! We have talked several times since our separation!"

"It wasn't the talking I can understand, don't you see?" He raised his voice. "None of what you say makes sense to me. I admit, it's my fault; I just don't have the right wits for it! But if you just repeat the same thing, how am I to understand anything?"

For a few seconds it looked as if she were to say something else, but then she turned away and crawled into her sleeping bag again.

Thorin sighed, rose, and went to pick up her plate. He loaded the dishes in the basin, and threw a look at her back. After a moment of consideration, he put the basin by the door, to wash it in the morning; and lay down.

He was already dozing off, when her clear voice shook him out of it.

"I don't understand how I can say it clearer." She sounded annoyed. "I don't want to be your wife anymore. I told you so before, when you asked politely. I don't understand why you thought 'asking' me this way would help." Her voice coloured with mockery around the word 'asking.'

"Are you completely certain?" he asked, and she sharply turned on her cot. He could see how angry her face was.

"Pardon? Do you think I'm playing games with you?" He didn't - and he shook his head. "Is this what this all is about?" She lifted her hand and jiggled the chain. "Do you think I'm deliberately keeping you away to cajole something out of you? Like a barmaid, promising attentions, 'just not tonight?'" Her lips twisted derisively. "Do you think I'd eventually give in and fall in your arms, and the chain is supposed to spur me?"

None of the above made sense either, and of course he hadn't been thinking any of the sort. He'd been thinking that he didn't understand her but wanted to.

"Wrena..." He once again got stuck on just repeating her name. "I just thought… you'd tell me what to do, to mend this… and all would be well." She made an irked groan noise, and turned her back to him once more. "But if… if you truly don't wish to be my wife anymore, if you have… no love left for me..."

"What?!" She sat up so sharply that it looked as if a spring threw her out of her sleeping bag. "No love left for you?! I've loved you for a hundred years, aching, and pining, like an imbecile! Quite more than my duty required, mind you!" Her voice was once again bouncing off the walls of the cave. "You want me to tell you what to do to mend our marriage? Go back in time and marry someone else a hundred years ago, someone who wouldn't feel like their heart was bleeding every day, and their insides were ripped out of them when you looked at them like a piece of furniture! Someone who wouldn't feel like an undeserving, good for nothing, grey mouse, who received a bit of warmth out of duty and to conceive an heir." She jerked her arm, and spat a curse in Khuzdul.

"But… It wasn't like that..." He sat up as well. "Wrena..."

She turned her face to him, and he saw tears fill the slanted eyes.

"You never were… undeserving, or good for nothing. And not a grey mouse, especially. You've been the perfect wife to me. And no, none of what had been between us was out of duty, or to have a babe."

"I know you miss your old life, Thorin." Her voice grew subdued again, and she shook her head. "Everything was readily given to you, and all your wishes were anticipated. And now when all of it is lacking, you put more value in it. But again, I am not trying to starve you of attention to submit you. I just have no... strength left. Sliver by sliver, it's all gone now..." He saw a tear run down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it. "It's like none of me is left anymore…"

Thorin climbed off his cot, came up to hers, and sat down. She hadn't given him a permission, but after he'd abducted her, and held her hostage in a cold cave, a small breach of decorum was hardly making it any worse.

"Wrena, I'm not asking you to go back to… anticipating my wishes. And I know I've shown myself dim in all this calamity, but I'm not a complete moron. I do know that all these years you've been doing nothing but accommodating my needs. I know I am late, and only noticed the absence of all your labours when they were gone… And it's not about folded tunics," he added, remembering Revna's words. "Or my water by the bed. It's… You've always known when I sleep poorly, when I'm worried, when I need… succour. You give advice, and you know me, better than anyone. And I do miss you in my bed. And Wrena, it has never - do you hear me? - never has been out of duty."

"You have never been in love with me," she whispered, and another tear ran down her cheek. She didn't wipe this one.

"I'm in love with you now," he answered. She jolted, and looked at him. "I… I am, Wrena." It was a suddenly clear, acute, and surprisingly painful feeling.

She bit into her bottom lip, and scrutinised her face. She then made a scornful noise, and turned her face away from him.

"It's too late… and too little," she whispered.

He had nothing to say, and they just sat for a few seconds. Was this the end, then? he asked himself. She was, indeed, lost to him. Somehow till this moment, he hadn't thought it was so - or possible at all.

"Then just help me… redeem myself," he said in a low voice, and she inhaled noisily and looked at him askance. "We return to Erebor, and I will… do everything to make you happy. Those will be your needs that will be anticipated, and..." He cleared his throat. "But you will have to tell me what to do. I don't have… I don't have the smarts for it. Just say what I need to do, and I will." He nodded to his own thoughts. "And I'm asking for forgiveness. For what I've done, for making you come here. I got it all wrong. Again..."

"I just want to go home," she whispered, and he nodded again.

"Aye, we will. In the morning, alright?" He then looked at her, and something painfully twisted behind his ribs. "Will you consider forgiving me? With time, perhaps."

Her lips were still pursed in a distressed line; and he didn't want to press on. He then remembered that he had more deceit to regret. He pushed his hand in the pocket and pulled out the key. She made another angry huff noise.

He quickly opened her cuff, and she started rubbing it with the other hand. With painful remorse he saw a red mark on her pale skin. He unlocked his cuff as well, and threw the chain aside, in the darkest corner of the cave.

"I want to sleep now, Thorin," she muttered, and he hastily moved onto his cot.

She curled in her sleeping bag, and all he could see was the bright copper top of her head.

"Good night, Wrena," he said quietly, but she didn't answer.

 _ **To be continued...**_


	10. Cold Water, Hot Water

The next morning he opened his eyes, and stared at strange dim light around him. It glistened and danced, like it did on the walls of treasure chambers lit up with torches - patches of different colours shimmered, making his eyes hurt. He knew it could not be real. He groaned, and tried to move, but all his joined ached and resisted. His mouth and throat were dry and as if scratched.

"It's alright." Wrena's voice sounded muffled; and he felt a cup or a bowl press to his lips. "Drink, it'll help…"

He took a sip, cringing from bitterness and disgusting sweetness coating his mouth at the same time; and swallowed with difficulty. Her small hand brushed hair off his face, and then he felt a cool wet cloth lie on his forehead. He couldn't remember ever being ill as an adult - but he'd seen his children tended to in such manner. Perhaps, he had been too as a tot.

"Am I ill?" he asked. He could see her face as if through fog; and her hair seemed to burn around her face like the hottest of forge fires.

"Yes, you are," she answered. She took off the cloth from his forehead; and heat and pain immediately spilled on his temples and brow. "It's a simple fever, I think. There are no hives, and you've only been unconscious half a day." The cool cloth lay on his skin again, and he closed his eyes in pleasure. "If you hadn't been so, I'd almost think you were feigning it to postpone our return." His eyes flew open, and he stared at her. She was frowning, and looked altogether irked.

"I'm not… I don't know what happened…"

"You splashed in cold water; slept on a hard cot in a cave; and that is considering you've spent the last decade of your life living in comfort and luxury," she answered snappily, and rose. "You're simply too old for such escapades."

There was a pot on the fire, and she scooted near it and stirred the content.

"You're lucky I'm a healer, and not a wine merchant like Lady Revna," she grumbled. "What a ridiculous death for the King of Longbeards it would have been - to succumb to a coryza in a forgotten hole in the mountains."

"When will I be well enough to travel?" he asked, struggling to keep his eyes open. The drink she'd given him made him hot, and all his bones and flesh felt as if liquid.

"Sleep. We'll talk when you wake up," she answered; and he fell into heavy slumber, scorching and suffocating.

* * *

When he opened his eyes again, it was dark; and she was sitting by the fire eating. The smell of food made his mouth water; and then he started coughing painfully.

She walked up to him and touched his forehead.

"Your fever broke." She then pressed her fingers to the sides of his throat, under his jaw. "Not swollen. So, no grippe. Congratulations, my lord, you've been felled by a simple cold." Her tone was sharp and unpleasant. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded. The throat was aching; but even a thought of food scratching it didn't lessen his hunger. She stepped to a pot she had on the fire, and came back with some sort of broth in a mug.

He tried to sit up, and noticed with disgust that his limbs were weak and shaking. His clothes were sticking to his skin, drenched in sweat. He finally leaned his back against the wall, and took the mug out of her hands. The first gulp ran down his throat, bringing immense relief.

"How long have I slept?" he rasped out between more sips.

"The second half of yesterday, and a full night. It's close to dawn," she grumbled back. She'd returned onto the log by the fire.

"Have you slept?" he asked. The mug was now empty, and he threw a sad look at the bottom.

"Of course. It's not as if I was worried and kept checking if you were breathing," she answered sardonically. She came up, jerked the mug out of his hand, filled it up again, and pushed it into his palm. He caught her other wrist.

"Wrena…"

"What?" She gave him an irked look down.

"I'm sorry I've gotten you into this."

"Well, no harm done. You did wake up after all."

"I didn't want to cause you any worry…"

"Worry?!" She jerked her hand out of his. "May I remind you, you brought me here forcefully! And then you wouldn't wake up! And you burned for almost a day, and thrashed, and I thought you'd die! In this Mahal forgotten cave! And I would have to bring your body back to our children! And you talked and moaned, and…" Her voice broke, and she sobbed. "You, dim-witted, pig-headed…" Nothing else seemed to come to her mind; she made an angry noise, and stomped away from him.

He quickly drank the second mug, and was feeling sleepy again; and as much as he fought it, his eyes closed. This time his slumber was warm and dreamless.

* * *

The next time he woke up, daylight was streaming into the cave through the vent slits at the ceiling. He groaned, and opened his eyes.

Wrena was sleeping, sitting on her sleeping bag, rolled out on the ground near his bed. Her hand was outstretched, and was lying on his chest. A strange thought came - that he had never given a proper look to her face before. He could only see a half of it now, the turn-up nose with freckles across the bridge, the curved lips. Even in her sleep, there was a distressed frown on her brow, and bitter lines lay in the corners of her mouth. She had been - in his mind - the same woman he married, sprite and able; the one who was laughing at their wedding feast; the one who held their newborn children. She was not that woman anymore; the realization made him inhale sharply. Thin wrinkles ran from the corners from her eyes; the youthful liveliness had been replaced with some sort of dignified grace; elegant and regal. He might not have thought her attractive when he'd married her. She was endlessly beautiful to him now - the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

She shifted, her hand twitched on his chest; and she lifted her head. Their eyes met.

"You need sleep, Wrena. You look tired," he said; and she immediately narrowed her eyes at him. The green of irises was furiously bright.

"I look so wretched because I haven't had a bath in three days, and I haven't slept in my bed, and..."

"You don't look wretched," he interrupted her in an uncertain tone. He wondered why it was that she always heard the opposite of what he thought.

She muttered something under her breath, moved, and started dragging her sleeping bag back onto the other cot.

Thorin sat up.

"Let me cook now," he started; but his head spun, and he had to grab to the wall. She was already by the fire, setting the pot with the broth on the spit. "Wrena..."

"When it starts boiling, you can have as much as you want." She stirred the broth, closed the lid, and headed back to the cot. She climbed on it, and slumped on her sleeping bag. "There are also sausages, I cooked them yesterday. And..." A yawn interrupted her grumbling.

"I will manage," Thorin answered hastily.

She turned away, and pulled the cover over herself.

He ate, went to the stream, and brought water, which he then warmed up, and washed the dishes in. After that, he had no strength left, and he climbed on his cot again.

Sleep didn't came. He felt sluggish, and the food pleasantly warmed him from inside. He lay on his side, and watched Wrena. She'd shifted in her sleep, and was now facing him. Her right hand was curled in a fist under her cheek, the same way their children had in their sleep. He didn't notice how he fell into slumber again.

* * *

He woke up first, and quietly slipped out of the cave. The evening was unusually warm; and he heard birds sing in the branches. He filled the buckets he brought with him; and carried them back. By the time he reached the cave, he was wobbly on his feet. He was also famished, and he hesitated between warming the water, and food. He then told himself that she would be hungry when she woke up; so some fried up pottage and cured mutton couldn't harm.

He was starting on coffee; when he heard her coarse voice. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm well. Would you like some food?"

She climbed off the cot and came up to him, ruffling her hair. It was sticking around her head, disheveled and tangled.

"I brought you water." Thorin said, passing her a plate. She sat on the other end of the log. "We can heat it on the fire, and you can wash. It's no bath, but there is a laundry trough." He pointed at it.

"You underestimate my backside," she grumbled. "I can't fit it in." He threw her a quick look over. He wasn't sure what she meant. He always thought she was small for a Longbeard. "You should wash as well - to rinse off the sweat after the fever - and change into clean clothes. Otherwise you'll fall sick again." She ate her food with a displeased face. "Are you feeling strong enough to travel tomorrow morning?"

He nodded, and threw her a glance. She was chewing, pensively peering at something by the wall. He looked as well, and saw the chain glistening in the dimness.

"Where did you even procure it?" she asked, without turning to him.

"I'd seen it in the inventory, when we'd been doing the recount of Erebor riches, after the Mountain was reclaimed. It belonged to my Grandmother."

She suddenly snorted a small laugh. "What?" he asked. He hadn't heard her laugh for so long.

"That would be the same Grandmother who had an interesting collection of books, I presume. Seven shelves of lewd literature in the Erebor Library. You should have seen the faces of the librarians when they started cataloguing those volumes..." He stared at her flabbergasted. Her nose scrunched, and the slanted eyes shone. She finally looked at him, askance, from under long black lashes. "I don't wish to shock you, my lord, but those chains weren't kept as a decorative family heirloom. They had been used, and extensively..."

Thorin thought of his Grandmother - severe, dark faced, with bristly black moustache above her upper lip, and always generous with a bark and occasional - not painful, but utterly humiliating - thump to the back of a head - and his Grandfather Thror. Thorin suddenly felt like a child again; and a child that had just realized that the adults around him were people as well - and he burst into guffaws. They rolled louder and louder, and he bent, almost folding in half, remembering to put down his mug with coffee on the ground at the last moment. She joined his laughter, with her melodic silver one - and he just couldn't stop. In a few seconds he had to wipe tears that rolled over his eyes.

"I feel like a naive tot," he breathed out, between more guffaws.

"You are a naive tot," she deadpanned, and he only laughed louder. "I bet you thought that the decorous martial duties under covers, with candles out, were all that was to it."

"Indeed?" he drew out, throwing her an impish look. "And what about two weeks ago, on your study floor?"

She choked on her laughter, and bright blush predictably spilled onto her cheeks. Her nose twitched in her usual nervous habit. He'd seen it before of course, but he'd never thought it was as charming as it seemed to him now.

"And how do you know what else there is to it?" he asked her. "Have you been perusing my Grandmother's books?"

"Women do talk about it, unlike men," she answered with dignity, her cheeks still flaming. "You'd be scandalised if you knew what conversations we lead over mead at the end of a long day."

"About your marital life?!" he asked, indeed feeling scandalised.

"And about what happens under those covers." Her tone was defiant. "It has to do with our health after all. There are ailments to look out for, and the childbearing is a tricky matter. And for some, it's also pleasure, not just duty."

He wanted to ask if it were for her, but a strange thought that he had no right to pry came to his mind. And then he thought that if it hadn't been such for her in their marriage, it had been his fault. The conversation they were leading out of the blue was endlessly enlightening - and unnerving. To think of it, in a hundred years he'd been living with a woman, he had never given a thought to her being a woman.

She picked up both their empty plates, and carried them to the basin by the wall.

"I'll wash them, and you start on your bath," he said, and she threw him a surprised look but said nothing.

She dragged the trough in the middle of the cave, close to the fire, and settled the first bucket on the spit.


	11. Come Out in the Wash

**Hello!**

 **Couple announcements:**

 **#1: You might have noticed that I took off my funky fairy tales - _Fairy Tales from Under the Mountain_ \- from this account, and just added an extra one at the end. They've been re-edited, and I'm drawing original illustrations to them. The first one RAPUNZEL is already available on my Etsy shop _The King and Wren_ , as an instant download PDF. Basically, as soon as you purchase them, they arrive at your Inbox. Have a look into my shop! What if something catches your eye? ;)**

 **#2: In order to publish my book _Hammer Up!_ (based on _Stop, Hammer Time!_ previously posted here) I'll soon be launching a Kickstarter campaign, where you can pay for the book in advance, and receive lots of delicious goodies with it. The funds raised will go into professional editing, formatting, and printing those lovely drawings I'm cooking for you. I'll keep you posted.**

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 **Toodle-oo!**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

Thorin had no habit cataloging and comparing his experiences; but if he were asked, he'd say that the hunger and the temptation he was tortured with at the moment were the most acute and sweetest calamity to have ever befallen him.

Before undressing and sitting down in the trough - which she easily fit in, he was quite certain - Wrena had gone outside and came back with some herbs. She'd added them in the water; and he could smell them in the air of the cave, heady and wet. He sat on the log, his back to her; and first he heard the clasps of her clothes clank; then the rustling of the garments falling on the ground; and then her slowly stepping and sinking into water.

He was not a youngling, whose thoughts were solely preoccupied with carnal pleasures; and it wasn't even for the abstinence of the last moons - it was her last murmured 'don't look' that made him burn in the pyre of hunger and desire.

Had she been cold as before, it would have almost been easier. But they'd talked, they'd laughed; and in the last hour he went from sudden heartbreaking realization that there was perhaps no hope for his marriage; to a terror that indeed there was none, while there she was, sitting near him - the soft copper curls, the red lips, the long neck, her voice, her laughter. He felt weak, useless, furious at his own incapacity to do anything, almost on the verge of screaming and begging and grabbing her. How could she not understand that he loved her? That he was hers, and she was his? That she was where he belonged? That, as blind of an idiot as he'd been for a hundred years, he was now craving, and needing, and madly in love! And even more painfully so, he knew it all had been his fault - and by dragging her here he'd most likely destroyed whatever love, trust, and respect she'd had left for him.

"You spoke in your delirium," she suddenly said, between splashes of water. He blinked, shaken out of his torturous remorseful thoughts. "You kept saying, 'She isn't here. She isn't here.' You seemed to have been reliving the recovery after the fight with Azog. It makes sense, really," she continued calmly. "That was the last time you'd been unwell. So you just thought you were back in that healer's tent. And you kept saying, 'Where is she? I need her.'" She made a small noise that he couldn't understand the feeling behind. "I thought you meant… her, at first. You just kept saying, 'I need her.' But then you said, 'She's in the Blue Mountains. She's safe, with the children.' So I reckon, you meant me." Her tone was almost offhanded.

"I came to in that tent, and somehow expected to see you," Thorin answered quietly.

"I prayed for you every night, through the whole quest. I think, that has been the only time in my life when I almost threw all customs aside, and had half a mind to follow you." She still sounded disinterested, and he craved to turn to see her face - but he'd promised not to. "Sometimes I'd just lie in our bed, for hours, and pray. I once lasted almost three nights without sleep. I must have gone mad then; I thought if I stayed awake, I'd keep you safe. That was when I first realized that I… that I loved a man and not just a husband…" Her voice broke; and she cleared her throat awkwardly. "And then we came to the Blue Mountains; and I was worried you'd just treat me as before, and that I'd fall apart; but you were so… warm, so different. We conceived Dain then, remember? That's why he's so different from the other two." She laughed, but her voice continued breaking, and he could hear tears in it too. "Thror and Unna… They're yours - your firstborn; and your daughter, your Mahal's Gift. They are the children I gave you, and the ones you need and deserve, the King's heirs. He's all mine. Conceived in passion. My consolation..."

"Wrena..."

"Don't say anything," she said sharply. "I'm sorry I spoke out of term just now. It must be the exhaustion."

They sat in silence; and he heard her wash, and sniffle several times.

"You should bring water for yourself," she finally said, her voice nasal; and he rose, and went out. It was almost dark.

He brought the water back, and edged towards the fire, still facing away from her. He heard another big splash - she added hot water to the trough.

He rubbed the back of his neck, and started, feeling tongue-tied and awkward, "Wrena, I wish I could tell you something… the same as what you told me… But it's all in the past, you know. It's been good for me, all these years we've had together…" He knew that he surely wasn't expressing himself well. "What I'm saying is that I just… don't dwell on the memories; that's just not how my mind works. But… I understand more now, Wrena; I do. And when we come back to Erebor, I'll do better, aye?"

She stayed silent, and then he heard water run on the floor. She was probably squeezing it out of her hair.

"And how are you intending to 'do better' exactly?" she asked in a levelled tone.

"Well, I now notice more, and I will not take all your hard work for granted..." Thorin swore under his breath. Now that he'd said it, he realized he didn't have the foggiest idea of how to make her happier. "I will not pester you with the whole wife business, that much I can promise you. I'll leave you in peace."

"So, we will just go back to what we had before you lost your marbles and kidnapped me?" she asked sarcastically. "Except you'll stop barging in on me from time to time demanding me to return to your bed?"

Thorin suspected she meant he was an unfeeling unaware imbecile - and he had to admit that that was exactly how he felt.

"I'm not good at this, that much we know," he grumbled; and she snorted a small laugh. "Like I said, perhaps you could just tell me straightforwardly what I need to do, and how to… cherish you more."

"Well, that's a novelty thought indeed," she drew out. "Cherish… I never thought I'd hear Thorin Oakenshield pronounce this word. I think you'll find it puzzling, taxing, and bothersome quite quickly."

There was some noise, and he realised that she rose and water rushed down her body. He industriously tried - and failed - not to imagine it. She then started drying herself and getting dressed.

"Thorin, I have received gifts from you for every occasion a Dwarf is due to receive a gift for. You had jewellery commissioned for me as often as it was customary. We never quarreled. You've never disregarded my advice and my counsel. I don't think you have anything to improve in being my husband and my king." She stomped, probably putting on her boots.

He couldn't deny she was right - and yet, Thorin knew that it was not all that was to it. To think of it, that had been exactly what Revna meant when she asked him what it was that was missing in his life now, that Wrena was gone. It seemed Wrena and him had been honourable and dutiful towards each other - and yet, she'd been giving him more, while he knew not now how to return the favour.

He heard Wrena laugh behind his back, a soft melancholy laugh. "I can't see your face, Thorin, but just by your shoulders I can guess that you're pensive and brooding. I can't imagine how frustrating even pondering such matters must be for you. An unfamiliar and distressing effort indeed," she drew out in a teasing tone. "You can turn now."

He did and saw her move to her sack in the corner. The copper and grey hair was scattered on her shoulders and down her back, like twisting and trickling streams of gold and silver. She found a comb in her bag, and sat on the long near the fire tending to her mane.

"Your water is almost ready. Do you want me to turn away as well?" she asked.

"Whatever you prefer," he answered absentmindedly, still pondering their previous conversation.

She'd been right, sinking in hot water and scrubbing off the grime and sweat of the last few days felt utterly satisfying. He lathered and rinsed the soap for the hair they had in the sack, a small bottle of dark brown liquid that smelt like herbs and honey; he then washed his body with the rough twine washcloth and the soap she left for him on the side of the trough. It was hers, since he hadn't thought of packing one for himself - he could smell some sweet flowers, and there were some pink petals in it, and now they were floating in the cooling water as well.

He looked at her once while washing; but she seemed preoccupied with drying her hair. He rose and quickly put on a clean tunic and trousers. The cave was hot and steamy by then; and she'd added more wood into their fire. He sat on the other end of the log, and stretched his legs in front of him.

"You should put on a doublet and throw a cloak over yourself. You'll fall ill again," she grumbled; and he got up with a groan and plodded to his sack, for clean garments.

They then sat side by side, each brushing and shaking their hair, to let it dry in the warmth coming off the fire.

He threw her a side glance. Her hands moved lightly, as if without a single thought from her, while her unseeing eyes were fixed on the dancing flames. Her cheeks were rosy; and she looked fresh and lovely. The mad curls were already surrounding her face like a glowing mane.

"As deaf as I am to the maudlin discussions…" he stared quietly, and she threw him a questioning look. "And you're right as always, pondering such matters is like walking on broken glass..." He gave her a pointed look, and saw her lips twitch in a small smile. "I did hear what you said, Wrena. And I will take all the blame for how… lonely you've been, and… the neglect. But you have never been unworthy, or undeserving." She opened her mouth, but he interrupted her softly, "Please, let me finish. I am not denying you felt this way. What do I know about how it felt? I just… never wished for you to doubt your worth, and since it was me who caused it, I can only… beg forgiveness."

He put down his comb on the log near him, and turned to her.

"Wrena, what you said… about me being on the quest… and you waiting for me, and loving me… as a man..."

"It's alright, Thorin. You can stop torturing yourself." She shook her head, her eyes lowered. "You truly don't have to strain so much, and… walk on the broken glass." She gave out a joyless chuckle.

"I took you for granted, Wrena; I'll take all the blame for it. I was coddled and indulged by your care; and I just… You've always looked at me, and treated me, as if I could do no wrong; you tolerated, and - just as you said - anticipated my wishes. You never for once treated me with anything but reverence. I should have endeavoured to do the same for you." He took a shuddered breath. "I just took, and took, and never gave anything in return." His voice wavered, but he pushed himself to continue.

"You loved me, Wrena; and that is what it was all about. No one else does, never has. Not like you. Without doubt, or… any shadow. You made me feel… worthy. Just me, as a man, as a Dwarf." His throat constricted, and he swallowed with difficulty. "And I am so very sorry that I made you feel as if you did not deserve the same veneration."

He looked and saw tears run down her cheeks.

"You said then, after the damn feast, that I looked at her like I never looked at you. Perhaps, I admired her beauty, and… she's a memory of Frerin, of our youth. But… I don't know her, Wrena - how could I admire or even love her? Not like you. I know you - as much as blind pig-headed dimwit of a Dwarf can know his wife." He gave her an apologetic smile. "I admit that it's only just now…"

He didn't get to finish his thought, because she suddenly lunged ahead, and her arms went around his neck, and she pressed into him so very tightly.

 **To be continued...**


	12. One Step Ahead

He choked on his words, and froze, uncertain whether he was allowed to embrace her in return.

"Wrena..."

"Shush."

"Did you just shush me?" he asked with a disbelieving chuckle.

"Aye. And shush." She shifted and pressed her temple to his. "I need… a jiffy. I'm making a decision."

He slowly lifted his arms, and closed them around her. He could feel her take slow breaths; and then she shimmied in his embrace. She didn't move away as he expected - he was prepared to immediately release her - instead, she put her head on his shoulder. The copper curls tickled his nose. She stayed still now - and he didn't wish to move either, just savouring the closeness, and the sudden realization how right she felt near him.

Minutes ticked away, the cave was still and quiet, in peaceful harmony - and then she inhaled deeply, and untangled out of his arms, and sat up straighter.

She studied his face; and he couldn't quite understand the emotions splashing in her eyes.

"I wish I knew if I were wrong…" she muttered, and he tilted his head, searching her face for explanation. "On the other hand, what do I have to lose? Another hundred years, at best..."

He wanted to ask what she meant, but she leaned ahead, and pressed her lips to his, silencing him. The kiss was firm, but innocent. No lewdness, no hunger - her lips were closed tightly, yet still tender and soft.

She then shied away, and lowered her eyes. He could see the feverishly red cheeks, and the flutter of the fingers on her lap. He felt utterly confused, and just sat gawking at her.

"I can't… make you stay away anymore," she whispered. "I would be lying if I said I didn't want you back."

"What are you saying, Wrena?" he asked, reminding himself to listen first, and start acting after.

"I… I want us to be espoused again... to live together..." She sharply lifted her face, and their eyes met.

"What brought this change of heart?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" she asked; and he studied her face.

"Do you wish to go back to what we'd had before Revna arrived?" He felt he needed certain clarification here. She nodded, and looked down at her hands again. "As simple as that?" She nodded again. "You'd been estranged for months; and just a few hours ago you refused me again..."

She chewed at her bottom lip.

"Wrena…" He didn't know how to ask, but he had a preposterous thought that he needed her to give him some sort of assurance that he would be allowed back into her life for good. And that there he would not make the same mistakes again, only to be thrown out like a disorderly tenant. "I don't understand..."

"I don't want to be miserable anymore," she said quietly. "I can't… I'm so tired… I don't want to feel empty, and lonely… and worthless. Even if I'm making a mistake, I want to believe you love me..."

"I do, Wrena!" he rushed to reassure. She sighed and nodded.

"These past moons..." Her voice wavered, and she looked away. "When she came to Erebor, and I saw… what you were like around her, everything we'd had seemed like a lie." Thorin remembered Revna speak of the same. He hadn't understood it then, and had paid no heed to her words, to be honest - but he did listen to Wrena. He could see the side of her face, and her throat moved in anguish. "I would see you with her and..." she whispered, "And I just couldn't stop thinking that every time you had been with me, kissed me, in all years of our marriage… you'd been imagining her in my place."

That was perhaps something women thought, something all of them had in common - something Thorin just couldn't grasp. He gently picked up her hand. Even if he couldn't understand her torment - he thought with piercing tenderness - he needed to reassure her.

"Wrena..." he said softly. "Never have I thought of Revna in such terms, with you, or without you near me. And as for kisses, and more… men don't think about much while it's happening." She looked at him sideways, and he gave her a tender smile. "Why would we think? We're preoccupied with pleasant matters." She didn't return his smile. The corners of her lips remained mournfully lowered.

"Have you ever wished it were her, not me, that you married? That she'd chosen you over your brother, and..." She trailed away. Her eyes were now intent on his face, a small frown creasing between her brows.

"By Mahal, never, Wrena," he answered firmly.

"Will you tell me now that men do not deal in hypotheticals, and it just never came to your mind to compare us?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

He would like to lie, but the conversation felt too crucial for that - and he nodded.

She sighed, and looked into the flames. The reflections of the fire danced in her eyes - and he admired the fire opal coloured irises.

Something had to be done, and said - and Thorin searched his mind, and watched her face.

"But if I had to do it presently, I would say..." he started, and she turned and gave him a cautious look. "I would say, above any other, I'd prefer a woman who laughs at my unfunny anecdote about two Elves and a barrel of tar." Her eyebrows jumped up in surprise. "And who wakes me up by touching my nose. Thusly, you know?" He ran the tip of his finger down the bridge - just as she did when she'd try to rouse him in the morning, so many times, in a hundred years.

"You have battle nightmares. Mother always said it's bad for a warrior's heart to wake up suddenly," she muttered, and he nodded.

"And did she tell you to tickle your husband's nose instead of just maybe touching his shoulder?" he asked, and she blushed and looked away again. He smiled, touched by her shyness. "And I much prefer a woman of shorter stature, and of a less… buxom nature."

"Well, that is surely… not true…" She sounded shocked; and he found her tone endearing. "No one would prefer a copper coin over a sparkling diamond."

He took her hands, and pulled her closer. She resisted, and he didn't force her, but he leaned in, levelling their eyes. He craved a kiss, now that her lips were so close, but he told himself to wait. It seemed there was hope for them now - and he needed to make her see.

"Wrena, I care not if she's a diamond or a chunk of coal. And I might be blind, but I'm no idiot. I know the value of a copper coin." He let go of one of her hands, and brushed a soft orange curl off her cheek. "You're kindred, Wrena. I know you; I've had you for many years. Everything about you is familiar… and mine. And everything about you is beautiful, and alluring… You answer to me, Wrena," he whispered, and saw her eyes widen. "When I touch you, I know you will answer. I know how you breathe, and how you embrace me, and... I know your body. Why would I want another?" He was so close now that he could feel his breath bounce of her lips. "You show me your love, when I touch you. And your pleasure… And I wouldn't trade it for any other."

A tear ran down her cheek, and her lips trembled. "And what about your pleasure?" she asked in a hardly audible whisper.

"What about it?" he whispered back. Her could see bottomless black pupils that had almost swallowed the ever changing colour of her eyes, and he knew without looking how sharply her chest rose.

"Is there enough?" He almost had to guess what she asked by the movement of her red lips. He suddenly laughed, not knowing why himself.

"Not lately," he answered to her, hoping she'd see he jested - and she joined with a small awkward chuckle.

He cupped her face, and smiled to her. He could only hope she could see the love he felt, and the tenderness, and some merry, mad infatuation bubbling in him.

"Don't doubt me, my heart," he said, and her brilliant eyes roamed his face, and tears ran down the cheeks. "Don't doubt me. If you take me back, I will cherish your. I'm all yours, Wrena."

She dropped her head, probably hiding her face, but a sob escaped; but then she looked up, and he saw a smile, though the cheeks were tear streaked - and then she wrapped her strong small hand around the back of his neck and led him to her lips.

* * *

"We have two cots here, and we're once again on the floor," was the first thing she said; and he opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling of the cave.

"Aye," he answered, and yawned. "We're certainly too old for such folly." He sounded very much pleased with the folly. He surely felt so. She giggled and burrowed her nose in his chest.

"I quite enjoyed the folly," she said shyly, and he peeked at her. The hair shone around her head, like some sort of a golden cloud; the cheeks were rosy; and he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her to his lips. She made a funny surprised noise, but immediately pressed into him, and opened her lips for him, and there was a quiet moan.

A few sweet minutes filled with busses and caresses passed; and Thorin decided at least one of the cots was wide enough for the two of them, given they would have to lie very close to each other. Also, they had not taken any clothes again,and he wished to see and touch more. He knew he would desire her again, very soon, and he wondered if she would agree. He noticed she was quiet, but she didn't seem to be sleeping.

"Wrena?"

"We should move to the… cot," she said quietly; and he twisted his neck to look into her face. She was frowning again, and seemed to be rigid now.

"One cot?" he asked, wondering if that was what made her so tense. Perhaps, he was wrong in his feeling as if everything were right and simple now. He had misunderstood her before, many times in the last months.

She sat up, and started picking up her hair, just as she had in her study; and Thorin felt even more uneasy.

"Aye, one cot. I have offered, after all… for you and I to reconcile," she muttered.

"Do you… doubt your decision?" he asked. He could see her shoulders rise in a deep sigh, and she turned to him. He didn't like the sad smile on her lips.

 _ **To be continued...**_

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_**

 **If you want more of me :)**

 **1\. I have two webserials on Wattpad; the name is Katya Kolmakov. Two stories, one angsty, one humorous.**

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 **3\. Just follow me on Facebook basically :) Updates posted on my Author Page. Just type /katyakolmakov after the address.**


	13. The Return

**Author's Note:**

 **Please, consider supporting me on P.A.T.R.E.O.N! The name there is Katya Kolmakov; and a small monthly donation to this starving artist would be highly appreciated :) I'm running a silly webserial there, and I'll be sharing short stories and my art with my Patrons. With enough support I'm planning to start a webcomic about a feminist Princess Oliva, and perhaps a story about a utopian society of mer-people :D At least, have a look! :) Isn't the cover cute? :D**

 **Love,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

"No, no…" She shook her head. "I do not doubt my decision…"

He had to admit, he'd of course thought that her allowing him to her body was a clear indication they weren't estranged anymore - but after the incident in her study, and especially the revelations of the last few days, he had grown to understand that it just wasn't that simple in her mind. The physical love - which women apparently discussed openly among themselves! - as little as he'd ever pondered such matters, had been in his mind just another facet of a marriage. But these days it all seemed complicated and tangled - emotions, duty, and carnal matters; and Thorin thoroughly disliked the confusion.

"Wrena..."

"We should move to the cot," she repeated, and started rising. He gently caught her wrist, and pulled her hand to his lips. She gave him a surprised look. The gesture might have been somewhat florid for him; but he missed her hands. The palms were small and rough; the fingers strong; and he had been longing for them, not knowing it himself. "We'll take mine," she said, her voice softening. "It's wider."

He got up as well, without releasing her hand. He had to let her go, though; and they took off their doublets; and climbed onto the cot. It took some shuffling; and moving elbows and legs to finally settle. She tucked herself into his side, somewhat awkwardly. He could feel how rigid she was.

He started softly stroking her hair, still damp after the bath. All and all, he thought, an advancement had been reached today - she had accepted him. Perhaps, it would take time for them to grow close again. He wasn't going to forget the promises he'd made and the lessons he'd learnt. They would return to Erebor; and he would slowly win her over.

She fell asleep quickly; she always did after their love; and he lay, thoughts slowly dancing in his mind.

* * *

The next morning he woke up, and slid his hand inside the sleeping bag. She wasn't near. He rose on one elbow; and saw her making coffee over the fire. He wondered if he'd developed some sort of mental affliction - he just couldn't stop comparing how she acted with what had been happening in their marriage before; and he seemed to find new and new signs of her harbouring resentment towards him.

"Morning," he greeted her, his voice raspy from sleep; and she looked at him and smiled to him. Even the smile seemed somewhat incomplete to him. "Should I make us eggs? We still have a few left."

She nodded, and stirred coffee. He heard a small chuckle, and then she glanced at him.

"Do you even know how I like my eggs?" Although her tone was teasing and jesting, this question only confirmed his suspicions.

"In fact I do," he said and climbed off the cot. "You prefer scrambled, with tomatoes, and two rashers of bacon." He felt quite smug; and she laughed and shook her head.

"Fair enough. You cook then." She theatrically pointed at the pan with a wide inviting wave of her hand.

Half an hour later they were sitting on the log, chewing their breakfast; and Thorin decided to share the thought he'd had the night before.

"Perhaps, we should stay here for a few more days." She threw him a surprised look askance. "We have wood, and provisions, and we've set up means to wash," he continued. "And since we sleep together, you won't be cold at night."

"Stay in this cave for longer?" Her voice was coloured with disbelief.

"Aye, why not?"

"And do what exactly?" she asked sarcastically.

"Cook, sleep, talk…" he drew out; and she shook her head.

"I don't wish to offend you, Thorin, but you are only good at one out of these three things." The corners of her bright red lips curled up; and though the words indeed stung, he welcomed the banter.

"Do you mean to say, you aren't enjoying my eggs?" He feigned a taken aback tone.

She snorted, and shook her head.

"Well, then no second helping for you," he grumbled; and then on some strange impulse he leaned in and kissed her cheek. It was protruding with her breakfast, and she made a funny noise and screwed her eyes at him. "And I'm certain if we stay, we'll find ways to entertain ourselves," he murmured.

She swallowed her food, and gave him a studying look.

"We could hunt… or fish," he offered, not meaning either of the pastimes. He had quite a different idea of how they could spend days and nights in the cave. He'd been starved for her company - and one particular aspect of it especially.

"I want to go home... to our children," she said.

"Alright," he agreed lightly, keeping the disappointment out of his voice. She glanced at him one more time, and went back to her food.

Afterwards, they washed the dishes, and started packing their possessions. She was quiet, lost in her thoughts, a small frown on her brow. She had never been exceptionally talkative around him - and he was now thinking, perhaps his well-known dislike for idle chatter had been discouraging her. She did lead lively conversations with others.

On the other hand, it was blatantly clear talking was required for him to mend their marriage. And to think of it, he missed her voice; and her sober judgement; and the stories she would tell him when he asked.

Nothing came to mind at the moment, though; and they worked in silence.

He was carrying their sacks out of the cave, when he heard a soft clank behind him.

"I still can't even fathom what came over you..." she said. He turned around, and saw her stand by the wall, with the mithril chain in her hands.

"Are you referring to… kidnapping you?" he asked; and she nodded.

"And in such a bizarre manner," she muttered.

Thorin had no answer for her, so he just stood and watched her face. Her frown had deepened, and her eyes roamed the shining links lying on her palms.

"I just though if you could listen to me..." he started, and she threw him a sarcastic glance. "I know, I know. You do listen to me; it's I who… needs to learn to be agreeable." She snorted, and started folding the chain.

"An agreeable Dwarven husband..." she repeated. "What a peculiar idea." She threw him a look over her shoulder, and left the cave, probably to pack the chain in the saddle bag. He followed suit.

* * *

They had covered half the distance to the Mountain, when she turned her pony and rode off the road, towards a small grove. He joined her; and they dismounted. There was a small stream running between boulders. She left into the bushes for a few minutes, and then washed her hands and face, making small groan noises. It was cold, and he assumed the water chilled her to the bones. He followed her advice.

When she was passing him, he shifted, wrapped his arm around her, and pulled her in. She looked up at him, surprise and some other emotions splashing in her eyes.

"You're uncharacteristically amorous today," she grumbled, and he tilted his head and studied her face.

"And you're uninviting," he said. She pursed her lips, and looked away.

"I apologize." Her voice was dull.

"Don't," he said softly. "I'd rather you be honest with me - than be the perfect wife for a century and then throw a mug into my head." He gave her a small smile.

"So, I'm not the perfect wife now that I'm not… inviting enough?" she asked, her tone prickly.

"I was jesting, Wrena," he said softly, and brushed the back of his hand to her cheek.

"I'm afraid, my sense of humour has dwindled over a hundred years of being married to you," she muttered grouchily; and he chuckled.

"I can see how it could happen." She sighed and met his eyes again. "Any other would have turned into a murderous hag," he said; and the corners of her lips twitched, he noticed with a small triumph. "And you're still the perfect woman," he added.

She tentatively shimmied her shoulders, and he released her. She didn't step back, but wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her cheek to his chest.

"I don't doubt my decision… I just can't seem to settle back… into trusting you," she whispered. "I apologize if it seems all too maudlin and nonsensical to you."

It wasn't. It was an uncharted land for him - dealing with emotions and trying to mend them; but he wasn't intending to balk. He was resolute to remedy their relationship; and having a clear goal always helped. He just needed a thorough plan.

Also, he'd grown to understand that her apologies were as sincere and reliable as the political promises of an Elf. Her apologizing was just her dismissing him; her accepting he was too limited to perceive an issue and unable to participate in its solution. And that wouldn't do.

He picked her under her chin with his curled index finger and lifted her face. The slanted eyes widened, and he smiled to her.

"Would you like me to tell you a jest, Wrena? To resurrect your sense of humour?" She pressed her lips, but a smile escaped.

"You only know one, and it's not particularly funny."

He decided she was - as always - right; and just kissed her.

* * *

When they returned to the Mountain, the hustle and the worries of the Autumn enveloped them at once. There were provisions to prepare; forges to test before the cold settled; and so on, and so on. It seemed there wasn't a single moment to lose; and everyone seemed to get so little sleep that tempers rose so very often.

Some changes, nonetheless, had been made in Thorin's marital life. Wrena was back to sharing the bed with him at night. After evening meals and whatever errands both of them had to run, they would return to either of their bedrooms and then sleep together.

They ate together again. They talked. They laughed. Their physical love was frequent.

And yet, he couldn't stop watching - her movements, her moods, her tone. Everything seemed to have gone back to what they had been like before the calamity with Revna. And still, it seemed to him he was missing something - and that at any moment she would reverse to the coldness and animosity of those estranged moons.

He tried gifts. He chose a day that was of no special significance, so it wouldn't be the same customary marital gift giving she'd mentioned in the cave. He'd commissioned an elegant bracelet for her; she was fond of them. He made a special effort by asking Dis' opinion, and then for her help with packaging. He'd never understood the importance of boxes and silk wraps, but Dis insisted they mattered.

* * *

He placed the box on Wrena's pillow and waited. She walked into the bedroom, muttering something displeased; and before he could say anything, she stomped into the bathchambers and the door banged behind her. Thorin took a deep breath, telling himself to be patient.

After a few minutes, filled with thuds and the sound of running water, the bathchamber door opened, and Wrena showed up in her nightdress.

"And then I told them those provisions simply wouldn't do! And did they listen to me? No, they did not!" she continued grumbling, probably not even addressing him. She was forcefully brushing her hair, jerking the comb and making unhappy noises. "I told them to recheck; and of course they didn't! And..."

She stopped mid-sentence, and look at him.

"Yes?" she asked, keeping her tone polite, but no less grumpy. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Go on," he said; and she once again pulled at her copper curls.

"I can see you have something to say. What is it?" She was growing impatient. His plan was clearly backfiring.

"No, I am listening to you. Are you talking about the salted fish from the Laketown?"

"Aye, Dis and I had just gone through the previous shipment, and it was no good; and then I said..." She once again stopped, her eyes finally on the box. "What's that?"

"A gift." He suddenly laughed. "But do go on. What about the salted fish?"

He watched blush spill on her cheekbones. "I apologize."

"For the fish?" he asked impishly. She opened her mouth to answer, and he leaned ahead, took her hand, and pulled her close. Her body - under the gauzy nightdress, especially with her chest now heaving, and the rose of blush spilling down the cleavage - was distracting; but he commanded his desire to wait.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said. "And I do need to know about the fish. And I do want to hear anything you have to tell me."

"I wasn't exactly telling. I was… griping," she muttered, and looked at the pillow over his shoulder.

"And I'm willing to listen." She looked down at him, and chewed at her bottom lip.

"Could I have my gift now?" she asked in a small voice.

"Aye. And then the fish." She snorted, and he let go of her hand. She climbed on the bed, settled in covers, and started unwrapping the box slowly. Her fingers then froze, and she sighed.

"I do see that you're applying yourself, Thorin," she said quietly, opening up the silk. "And… I appreciate the time we now spend together, in the evening, before bed..." She peeked at him. "The conversations we lead, and you asking about my day… And I do notice your interest in my matters." She stroked the lid of the box pensively. "I just..."

"You think I'm just buttering you up," he offered, and she once again bit into her bottom lip.

"Aye… And that soon you'll grow bored, and vexed by it; and I will by then..."

"What?" he asked - too sharply to his own taste. He was feeling increasingly irked.

"I will get used to it." Her voice was growing stronger, and she gave him a direct look. "And I don't want to... get disappointed later. I'd rather you be honest too, then pretend and overtax yourself."

"I'm not pretending." He felt offence and anger rise.

"No…" She dropped her eyes to the box in her hands, frowning. "No, of course you're not. It is not in your nature. I apologize if the words were insulting. That was unintentional. But you are… forcing yourself, and making efforts that are foreign to you. And I just… can't seem to stop waiting for you to abandon these new habits of yours."

The urge to let his anger and his wounded pride be known was almost impossible to suppress - but only nearly. And those weren't the memories of her stubborn resistance before that stopped him. He knew that roaring and raging wouldn't work - but he also knew that he had no right to let his temper rise. While she had the right to think what she wished about him.

"Well… Then it's my turn to apologize," he said; and she threw him a surprised look. So, she expected an outburst. He quickly asked himself if she had been goading him. "You will have to endure my new habits. I'm not giving them up any time soon." He moved up on the bed and leaned back onto the headboard near her. "And open the box already... please."

She did, and then carefully picked up the bracelet from the velvet. It was shaped like a thick chain, with two charms decorating it - one shaped as a padlock; another as a key.

She looked at him askance, and her lips trembled in a small smile.

"So, you're putting another chain on me," she drew out; and he nodded smirking.

"But this time you have the key." She laughed and stretched her hand to him. He clasped the bracelet around her wrist.

"That is… strangely romantic," she said; and he wondered if it were a compliment, or a jibe at his previous unromantic behaviour.

She then smiled, and her hand lay at the back of his neck. She pulled him to her lips; and he forgot his worry.

 _ **To be continued...**_


	14. Winter Comes

**Author's Note:**

 **I seem to have problems with my FF account. I'd posted Chapter 13, and it didn't seem that the site had sent the notifications about it, at least to me. Overall, the updates are showing strangely. So, if you missed the previous chapter, have a look!**

 **Also, I had an idea of a sequel for this story, since Thorin and Wrena were clearly on a steady route to full reconciliation - and then I decided I'll just continue writing here. So, buckle up for a new plot twist ;)**

 **Love you all, my dear readers! Cheerio!**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

A fortnight later, the family was having the evening meal. Thorin was feeling the headache setting in, and he rubbed his forehead. The children seemed especially noisy to him; and Dis' voice - engaged in yet another quiet hissy verbal match with Revna - made him cringe. He finished his plate faster than others, pushed it away, and left, grumbling his goodbyes under his nose.

He returned to his study. There were still letters to finish. He ruined two quills, and the drafts were unusually messy and blotched. The delays in the provision shipments through the Mirkwood had been grating on his nerves for weeks now, and he truly didn't appreciate the ambiguous and haughty tone of the Elvenking's response letter.

A knock came to the door, and he invited the visitor in. Wrena came in, in her usual determined swift manner, a bunch of letters and a register in her hands. They were supervising the renovations the Western Halls together, both his forges and her infirmary had storages there.

She placed the papers on his desk without looking him, and curtly commented on the changes she made in two contracts.

She had already turned around to leave, when he called after her.

"Wrena, could you wait a jiffy?" She looked over her shoulder - and that was when he noticed the cold tense expression on his face. "Is everything alright? You seemed awfully quiet at dinner."

"Oh, you noticed…" she muttered; and he gave her a surprised look. She opened her mouth, her eyes narrowed, their expression prickly - but then she paused and sighed. "It's nothing."

"It is not nothing," he said softly. "Please, talk to me." He rose from his desk and came up to her. "Wrena…"

He saw her hesitate, the painfully familiar guarded expression on her face; and then she shook her head.

"It is truly nothing of importance, Thorin. I am just… tired, all this Autumn hustle. I'm just more easily affected by… everyone's moods."

That was something confusing, something of the realm he was so incompetent in - but then a suspicion came.

"Do you mean my moods?" he asked, and she pressed her lips in an even thinner line. "Wrena, we need to speak openly. I don't understand…"

She didn't answer, and he gently picked up her hand and pulled her towards a settee by the woodstove. She followed somewhat grudgingly.

They sat down, and he gave her a pointed expectant look.

"I know you can't see it," she started, her eyes lowered to their linked hands. "And I know you do not intend it to be difficult. But I do get affected by other's moods, and yours especially. And you've been… disagreeable recently." She threw him a melancholic look. "You've been quiet. You answer in sentences no longer than three words. You barked at the children yesterday. They had been out of line, I agree - and they forgot it immediately. But it upsets me. I've lived with you and your temper for years, but you had made promises, and I started believing them…"

Thorin remained silent. The first response in him, of course, was anger; and he almost jerked his hand back from hers - but then he saw that she didn't try to stop him. She was sitting, her eyes sad, corners of her mouth lowered. She knew he'd resent her words - and she'd accepted it. She didn't trust him to react reasonably. She'd anticipated he'd remain blind to her discomfort and throw her concern aside.

Thorin picked up her second hand softly, and tilted his head, peering in her eyes.

"I apologise, Wrena. I don't see that I upset you. And that my behaviour is disagreeable."

She threw him a look, and he could see that he'd surprised her. There was a fair amount of mistrust in her eyes as well.

"Forgive me?" he asked softly.

"It is not your fault," she answered. "You're just…"

"Grouchy?" he offered, and she gave out a surprised snort.

"I was going to say 'taxed,'" she said softly, and shifted closer to him on the settee. "We're all feeling the strain, Thorin. But we're fighting the same fight; we need to support each other. It's vexing enough having to listen to Dis and Revna bicker. You brooding in your chair is just too much…" She peeked, no doubt to see how he'd take these words - and he chuckled, and leaned in.

Her lips were familiar and sweet, and her breath tasted of the raspberry preserves she had had with her tea. He deepened the kiss, and she arched into him, readily; one arm going around his neck. She felt soft, and warm, and pliant, and so very bewitching. A soft gasp fell from her lips, when he shifted his attention onto her neck. He could feel the pulse frantically thrash under the ivory skin on the vulnerable throat.

He felt the small hand dance on his middle; and then he realized she unbuttoned his double, and the nimble fingers danced around his waist, first over the tunic; and then seeking bare skin.

A new suspicion came - this time, an amusing one.

"Am I being trained like a pony, my queen?" he asked. His arm was around her waist, and he leaned her backwards, onto the settee. "Am I receiving a lump of sugar for the corrected behaviour?"

She laughed; and he kissed the collarbones, and then stuck his nose into the frilly lace around the cleavage. She choked on her frolics, and her chest heaved in a sharp inhale. He decided to seize the opportunity, and thoroughly nuzzled the pale skin, burrowing his nose between the wonderful soft rounds.

She breathed out a surprised 'oh.' With the exception of the incident in her study all those moons ago - and the cave one, to think of it - the two of them had always chosen traditional locations for any sort of impropriety. They were now on a settee, too short and narrow for even one of them, in his study, with all the court still awake. It was thrilling!

His hand snaked under her, onto the back, and he blindly found the lacing, his mouth till caressing the tops of her breasts. She was breathing laboriously - but she did not protest or suggest changing any proceedings. And then he heard his belt buckle click under her fingers.

* * *

The Winter had settled over the Mountain and the Valley, like a thick heavy eiderdown. The Kingdom as if went to sleep. The Dwarves would stay in their Halls, working on their crafts, enjoying the time with their families. Eventually, sufficient provisions and supplies had been prepared; and Thorin was looking forward to a calm cozy months ahead of them. More time could be spent in his family halls; and he fully enjoyed having more time with his children. Dain, the youngest, was now an active and jolly tot; and Thorin had quite forgotten how merry they could be at this age. Dain had his mother's wide mouth, and seemed to always be on the verge of bursting into happy laughter. Thror was all about his studies and axe training; and Thorin and him spent a lot of time on the grounds. Unna was showing promise in archery; Thorin would join her at the range almost every day.

Wrena seemed content - but Thorin wasn't intending to lose vigilance. He was following through with his initial plan - showing her more attention, offering help and support when he could, purposefully allocating time for just the two of them. He assumed he was succeeding - considering the fervor she was showing for him recently. With some sort of smug amusement he'd remember that the two of them had been behaving most immodest - and daring these days. First, it was his study. Then there was that time she asked him to help her with the inventory she was going through in a pantry, then locked the door behind them - and it turned out there was no inventory. Then there was the time when he wandered into her study late in the evening; she was reading and having tea; and her lips tasted like raspberry preserves again - and it turned out her training him had worked, and now the taste would put him quite in the mood. There were mornings, when soft snowflakes fell behind the colourful glass of their windows, and suddenly he didn't rush to start the day, like he normally had. Instead, he'd find a warm soft body under the sheets, and ask whether his wife was content in her life these days, and she would readily press into him, cheeks rosy after sleep, and eyes brilliant, and whisper, 'Quite so, but perhaps we could strengthen the foundation?' Her tone would be playful; and he would guffaw - and the day wouldn't start for another hour or two.

* * *

And then the merchants arrived from the Iron Hills, and among them Lord Amri, son of Marni.

The Dwarf was young, about a hundred and twenty. His father was of an old clan, who married a woman of dubious morals and heritage for her looks. Lord Amri was exceptionally tall of a Dwarf, almost as tall as Thorin. He had a strong handsome face; dark wavy locks; and was a known charmer. What was unusual for a rake like him - he was well liked by men. He was a skilled warrior, a hero of the Battle of the Five Army. He drank well; played cards; lost joyously and always paid his debts. He chased women, but never showed disrespect. He was quite a strange character for a Khuzd - but altogether not a reprobate.

Thorin hated him from the first look. He found out all of the above about the young Dwarf a moon after, when he started carefully asking around. To think of it, if it hadn't been for the newly found romance in his marriage, Thorin probably would have remained blind for much longer - but he noticed the look Lord Amri threw to the Queen as soon as the merchants stepped into the audience hall.

Rumours started as soon as three days later. Lord Amri didn't make any secret of his admiration for the Queen - and people started talking. After all, speaking of the eyes and shoulders of a married woman was just not done - and the Queen, for that matter!

Thorin, as any Dwarven husband if ever one were to find himself in such circumstances, felt completely at loss. It wasn't as if the man propositioned the Queen! And even if he had, Thorin couldn't possibly approach her and ask whether she needed protection - which would be a disrespectful and preposterous thought altogether - or even more ridiculously, whether she returned the young Dwarf's misplaced affections.

Wrena, meanwhile, seemed completely unaware - and that puzzled and irked Thorin even more. Surely, the gossip should have reached her! The man was overheard admiring her physique and her mind on many occasions.

Lord Amri's compliments had also never been lewd or impertinent - so even if anyone who heard him wanted to confront him regarding his behaviour, they wouldn't find anything to reprimand him for.

Lord Amri had announced to Erebor that he admired and worshipped its queen - and it was absolutely unclear what was to be done about it. Or whether anything was to be done at all.

 _ **To be continued…**_

* * *

 **P.S. If you feel like supporting my writing and my art, I've recently set up a P.A.T.R.E.O.N page. The name is Katya Kolmakov. Have a peek! :) Your support is highly appreciated :)**


	15. Basket

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 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

Thorin was changing for dinner, when the door to the bedchamber opened. He recognised Wrena's steps; and he was going to ask her where his belt was, when she ran up to him and pressed into his back.

He carefully turned around, in the circle of her arms; and immediately she jumped up, hung on his neck, and passionately kissed him. Thorin was no idiot to push away an enthusiastic amorous woman; and he cupped the back of her head and pulled her in.

She moaned into his mouth, and suddenly her hands were pushing the doublet off his shoulders. He chuckled in surprise. She didn't seem to be slowing down a tad; and her small hands grabbed his ears now.

"Thank you! Thank you! I love it!" she mixed words with little greedy kisses, and then laughed. "You're a such a charmer these days!"

It took him several seconds to realize what she was saying. The soft perfumed skin of her neck was utterly distracting.

"Thank you for what?" he murmured, and caught a pearl earing between his teeth. Her fingers were wandering his shoulders; and he could be wrong but it seemed the tunic was destined to join the doublet on the floor any second.

"Oh you," she laughed again. "Do you want me to say it? For the basket of course."

Thorin jerked back and looked into her face.

"What basket?" He saw her beaming smile drop gradually. The understanding seemed to dawn on both of them simultaneously.

"It's not from you," she breathed out. Blood rushed away from her cheeks.

"Nay, it isn't," he slowly answered, and took a step from her. Mostly, he felt... humiliated. A second ago it had been shaping to be a lovely evening - his wife was rubbing her leg to his, playfully biting along his jaw - and what was he supposed to do now? Thorin thoroughly disliked being in undignifying circumstances - and anyone would agree it was indeed embarrassing to be enthusiastically thanked for a gift one hadn't made.

"Oh Mahal help me..." She pressed a hand to her forehead.

"And what basket would that be, may I ask?" He watched her hastily cover herself, pulling at the sides of the bodice he'd unlaced by then. She slowly exhaled and met his eyes.

"I received a gift basket today. It had honeyed nuts and the dried fruit… the ones I enjoy so much. I assumed, of course, it was from you..." She frowned. "Thorin..."

He turned away from her, reining his temper. She of course had nothing to blame for - not for rousing him, and not for now leaving him standing in unbuttoned tunic and trousers in the middle of their bedroom. And of course she assumed it was from him; and came to thank him, to kiss him, with so much fervour. He gritted his teeth, and took a deep breath. She was quiet behind him.

He slowly turned.

"Well, that is… awkward. Was there no note in it?" His voice sounded hollow. She shook her head. "Perhaps, it's a gesture of gratitude from a patient from the infirmary?" They both knew it was unlikely.

"I assumed it was from you…" she repeated. Of course, she had. Sending treats - the ones that couldn't nourish - was a traditional courting gesture, flirtatious and even somewhat frivolous if the treats weren't savoury.

He gave out an unnatural chuckle. "I will take this as a compliment. I'm clearly considered romantic enough to send you sweets."

He saw her throat bob in unease, and she walked away from him.

"Wrena?"

She sat on the bed, and fidgeted with a ribbon hanging from her half open bodice.

"Sending it back now will be… difficult." Her tone was pensive, and Thorin felt furious. She was so calm! Why not just be direct and say what they both were thinking?! She'd received an inappropriate gift from a male admirer!

"Why?"

"Because I've eaten quite a lot of its content," she answered, and finally looked up at him. And then she suddenly smiled widely. "I was feeling peckish, and I just gobbled up half of it, and then ran to… thank you properly."

The red haze in his eyes - the fury that was burning, making him take sharp breaths in, and fist his hands - stepped back all of a sudden; and he couldn't help but smile back. An instant later she was already giggling; and he walked up to the bed and sat near her.

"Oh Mahal, what a ridiculous conundrum!" she muttered, shaking her head. "It's half full of wraps now!" He barked a short laugh.

"Just tell him you threw it out," he said; and she paused her laughing.

"You mean Lord Amri, don't you?" So, she was aware. How couldn't she have been? All Erebor was talking about it.

Thorin nodded and studied her face. She looked equally irked and amused - but not guilty. And then he asked himself, why would she feel guilty?

"Is this his first gift?" Thorin asked.

She frowned, pensively, and then sighed. "Say, it weren't," she started slowly. "Wouldn't you think I should be the one handling it?"

Thorin didn't enjoy the lack of a direct answer to his question.

"Aye, you should be," he answered grudgingly.

"After all someone expressing their admiration for me isn't any of your business. I am not unfaithful, I committed no crime against our marriage oath. And he is free to feel what he feels." She gave Thorin, what seemed to him, an haughty look. "As I've reminded you before, we are after all free Dwarves."

She indeed had - when she had been assuring him she had had no jealousy for Revna. Thorin, on the other hand, was jealous. It was an acidic, painful, crippling feeling.

She had said to him then that he could love anyone he wanted - but he couldn't say the same to her. He had only just gotten her back! She was his! Not belonging to him, but generously gifting her with looks, and touches, and warmth! He was not prepared to have anyone threaten it!

She softly touched his arm. "It is his first gift; and I will speak to him and tell him his attentions displease me." Thorin met her eyes, and she smiled to him tenderly. "I see you're irked. Don't be."

"Is that why the gift displeased you? Because I'm irked?" Thorin asked sharply. He wanted her to assure him she wasn't enjoying the attentions herself.

She gave it a thought.

"I don't want to see you unhappy," she said in the same soft voice.

"So, you're indulging me! Otherwise, you'd let him send you gifts and praise your… shoulders!" Thorin barked.

"My shoulders?" Her calm innocent look made him livid.

"Don't play coy, Wrena. It doesn't suit you," he gritted through his teeth.

"But of course. I'm a too old and plain for the courting games," she said in cold mockery, rose, and headed to the bath chambers.

Thorin grumbled a swearing under his nose. As incompetent as he was in emotional talk, even he knew that hadn't gone well.

* * *

She said nothing on the subject in the next three days; and he was intending to stay silent as well - but then he suddenly asked, "Have you talked to Lord Amri?"

They were preparing for sleep. He already lay in bed, she sat brushing her hair in front of her vanity.

The brush paused on the bright copper waves.

"I have," she answered. "The matter has been resolved." He could see half of her face reflected in the mirror. He thought he saw a small smile touch her lips.

"Good," he grumbled. Why couldn't she just tell him of the conversation? She knew how the whole matter vexed him. Was it that difficult to indulge him and just tell him what the cursed rake said?!

She threw him a look over his shoulder.

"Will you now be in a foul mood for the rest of the year?" she asked mockingly.

"I'm not in a foul mood."

She hummed, put her brush down, and came to bed. She turned her back to him, and seemingly went to sleep right away.

He indeed spent the following fortnight in the darkest of moods, though he made sure to keep his temper from rising, and altogether tried to behave in the most civil way.

Thorin had no habit of paying attention to any idle talk, the only source of gossip for him being what men blathered about at the training grounds. Recently, much more hushed murmurs were happening behind his back. It was time to assess the situation, he thought, and to start acting.

He invited a few of his warriors to a pub, got them drunk, and let them talk.

By then, it was said, the Queen had been seen with Lord Amri twice as it turned out. He had been seen coming to the infirmary and heading to her study. The second time, the rumours claimed, they were observed in a lively conversation at the market. Thorin did the only reasonable thing an adult Dwarf would in such situation - nothing. He finished his drink and went back to his halls.

* * *

And then another basket arrived, this time carried by a courier right into their shared parlour. Wrena was playing chess with Thror; Unna was reading in an a hair by the fire; while Thorin was nodding off in his, with Dain napping on his lap.

A knock came; the maid came in, followed by an unfamiliar Dwarf - who had a giant basket of sweets on his arms.

A pause hung; and then Unna asked whether the sweets were for them.

Wrena rose, came up to the courier, and looked into the basket.

"Is there a note?" she asked in a tense voice.

"No, my lady."

"Do you have the name of the sender then?" Another 'no' followed. "Well, someone paid for it. I need it to be returned to that person."

"I'm only delivering it from the confectionery, my lady."

"Well, take it back. And I need the name of the sender. I expect to be told it first thing in the morning." Her authoritative voice left no room for discussion.

The Dwarf, now clearly aware he had caused displeasure, nodded hastily, bowed lowly, and left.

Wren's returned to her spot, but Thorin could see she remained distracted the rest of the evening.

He was standing in the bathchamber, the tooth brushing twig in his hand, when she came in and stopped in the door frame.

"The first basket wasn't from Lord Amri. I asked him to come, we talked… and he reassured me. I had no means to return it, so… I just let it be." He looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was unreadable.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"And add another reason for you to be displeased?" She shrugged. "I assumed it would either resolve itself, or - as it happened today - I would find out who that person was. I will write them a note tomorrow, demanding explanation."

She then turned around and left the bathroom, without waiting for his response.

 _ **To be continued...**_


	16. Amri

**Author's Note: **

**Please read the news/updates after this chapter.**

 **Cheers,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

Thorin had never given Wrena's daily routine much thought - until now. He had started paying attention, since it seemed to him she was never around. They went to bed together, of course; and she shared the meals with the family; but she had her duties in the infirmary, the provisions and supplies she was responsible for; and other everyday errands, similar to his, but separate. And then he asked himself what it was that she did between them - and it turned out he didn't know. He insistently told himself it was none of his business; but he would catch himself wondering.

She trained, that much he knew. As any Dwarf she was both a craftsman, and a warrior. They never sparred together, it had just never came to it. And he wouldn't have considered it, were he not once sitting in his study, writing a letter; and an urge to find her came over him.

She was finishing her training, in the Winter grounds, a heated large hall, in the Lower Levels. It was empty at this time of day; most Dwarves would visit it in the evening.

Amri lunged ahead, low, along the floor; a long narrow training sword in his hand; and she rolled, over her side, avoiding the blow.

The young Dwarf laughed, loudly and openly.

"Much better!" he shouted; and she rose on her knees and threw her training glove at him.

"I'm still too slow!" she shouted back,with a laugh as well; and got onto her feet.

He picked up her glove, and stretched his hand with it towards her. And that's when she noticed Thorin. He'd stopped on the edge of the sanded area.

She said something quietly to Amri; and started walking towards Thorin. The beaming teasing smile that he'd seen on her face just an instant ago was now gone.

"Have you come to train?" she asked Thorin; and he thought he heard displeasure in her voice.

"Nay. Just looking for you. No particular reason." He glanced at Amri.

"I always train at this time. We're just starting," she explained, and looked back at the other Dwarf as well.

"I won't interrupt you," Thorin muttered, turned around, and headed back.

When he looked over his shoulder, from the staircase, she was already standing - very close - near Amri; and they had their heads leaned to each other.

* * *

"He is not as deplorable as the gossip paints him," Wrena's voice made Thorin lift his eyes from the book he was reading. They were in the parlour adjoin to his bedroom. She'd just returned after wishing the children goodnight.

Thorin hummed in a neutral way, which she could interpret whichever way she desired.

"Do the rumours about him and… me… bother you?" she asked, still from the doorway.

"No." Thorin dropped his eyes back to the page. He of course couldn't see a single rune.

"I haven't found out who sent the baskets."

He hummed again, in the same manner. She stood silently for a few moments; and then left. He considered hurling the book across the room, but surely that would be childish and at the end pointless.

* * *

She started training more; he could tell by how her body changed. Normally in Winter, the Khazad would grow fatter, slower; the warm food, full of root vegetables and grains, was eaten more abundantly; no one wanted to move around as much as in Summer moons. Wrena was growing leaner, faster, and stronger with each day. Thorin had ever hardly paid heed to her appearance; perhaps, only noticing the radical changes that came and went with child bearing - but now he couldn't stop noting and watching. She seemed livelier and more joyous as well - or perhaps, he was imagining it.

And it seemed to him that every time he'd inquire where she was during the day hours, he'd be told she was training.

A moon after the first time he had seen her on the Grounds, he suddenly got up from his desk, and marched there. He stopped at the balcony, hidden from the Dwarves below, and watched them train for almost an hour. By the end of the sparring, he was certain she was in love with Amri.

* * *

It took him another fortnight to arrive at the complete assurance that a conversation was in order; and he came to her study. Somehow he felt almost sick at the thought of asking his questions and listening to her answers in either of their bedchambers. After their reconciliation, they mostly used his; only occasionally sleeping in her rooms.

He knocked and entered. She was cleaning a set of throwing knives on her desk. He heavily sat on a low bench by the wall.

"Wrena, do you wish to enter an association with Lord Amri?"

He had been pondering how to make his inquiry - and the above question seemed as the most precise and comprehensive.

Her hands froze, a blade in one, and a cloth in another - and she slowly lifted her eyes and looked at him over her glasses. She looked astonished; just as a he had expected.

"I know you have feeling towards him; and I also know you wouldn't be unfaithful. So, I propose to let you go. If you wish, you can leave my halls, and become his wife. The children will, of course go with you; but on the condition that you and them will stay in Erebor."

He exhaled, through some unfamiliar sharp pain between his ribs. He'd expected to feel relief after finally putting his thoughts into words. Instead, he felt as if the Defiler's blade was entering his body again and again.

"Are you ill, Thorin?" she asked. He didn't deem her question worthy of an answer. She put down her work. "You will have to forgive me, I'm afraid I don't quite understand..."

It seemed to him that her tone was unjustly and cruelly mocking and cold. He just sat waiting for her to finally answer him.

She studied him for a few moments, and then leaned back in her chair.

"I didn't think that after a hundred years of marriage you could surprise me, but I suppose I have underestimated you."

"Enough jeering, Wrena. Just answer me already."

"But you aren't asking anything," she said, and he saw some strange expression in her narrowing eyes. "You made up your mind, just as you always do; and you came to inform me of your decision. I can bet my Father's axe you haven't gotten a slightest doubt that you're right."

"I am right," he answered levelly. "My proposal to you is fair and generous. And I'm sure you appreciate how honourable you are in my mind. I do not doubt your behaviour has been impeccable."

The pain bloomed, like a forest fire, spreading through his chest, and spilling into the left side. He wanted to press a hand over it, but stopped himself.

She tilted her head, and her amber coloured eyes roamed his face.

"Would you mind answering some of _my_ questions?" He could still hear mockery in her tone. He nodded. "Why do you think I would even wish to leave you?"

"I saw the two of you together. You love him." He realized that was the first time he put his affliction in these words - never previously even in his mind - and betrayal and hatred added to the poison of the torment that had been torturing his mind.

"And then you came here to ask me whether it were true?"

"I know it is true," he repeated, growing immediately tired of the conversation. He assumed she would try to defend herself, or reassure him - neither would bring result, but he thought such would be the most natural procession. She did neither - just sat and watched him. "I came here to let you know of my thoughts on the matter; and give you time to consider them."

She slightly shook her head, as if answering some unknown thoughts of her own, and then slowly asked, "But say, Mahal help me, you're wrong; and I do not wish to 'enter an association' with Lord Amri. What then?"

There was some sarcastic curiosity in her eyes; and he grew immediately irritated.

"Then you're lying to both of us."

"You and me?"

"Me and Amri. I saw the two of you, training."

"Were there kisses and confessions of undying love involved in that training?" she asked sardonically, widening her eyes; and he gritted his teeth.

"Wrena, quit your sneering! You should be grateful I am not reacting like a normal Dwarven husband."

"Which would be what?" she rushed, almost interrupting him. She now sounded irked as well. "Roar and demand me to never to see him again? Accuse me of disloyalty? Oh wait, you think I'm just in love, but haven't fallen yet." She shook her head again. "Mahal help me, that is quite a riddle you've presented me with."

"There is nothing riddle like in this," he said, and rose. "Take your time. Think. And stay in your rooms for the time being."

"You're throwing me out of your bedroom?" Her eyebrows jumped up, this time her face coloured with sincere astonishment.

"I do not wish to share it with a woman whose heart doesn't belong to me."

He then turned around and left the study.

* * *

There hadn't been any kisses or confessions involved in that training, of course. And yet, he knew he was right. She loved Lord Amri.

The way she looked at him; the way she laughed; the ease with which she touched him and let him touch her; the happy banter; the shoves and the tickling - Thorin had to be blind not to see that only her sense of duty stopped her from those very kisses. And there was no need in them, really.

He didn't blame himself for what had transpired - and perhaps, just a tad, he did. After all, she had been deprived of warmth and excitement in her marriage, for a hundred years. A young admirer had given her a chance to feel young again, to have what she had never had in her life - infatuation, passion, and the joy of a new love. It was only natural she had fallen for the Dwarf. It was just Thorin's bad luck that Lord Amri had come to Erebor.

Thorin returned to his study, and drank himself to sleep, eventually falling into dark dreamless slumber on a settee.

It was done now. He now needed to face the consequences of the calamity that had befallen his marriage. He worried for the children, of course; but on the other hand, he didn't doubt that just as him, Wrena would do well by them.

 _ **To be continued...**_

* * *

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	17. Winter Solstice

The following fortnight, contrary to his expectations, Thorin's anguish seemed to grow tenfold. He'd thought that once everything was in the open and clear, his mind would finally settle, and he would be able to sleep. Instead, he grew more and more agitated. Dreams started. He could hardly remember having any dreams before, even as a child - and now, almost every night fantoms tormented him, and he remembered them when awake. Nightmares were still easier to tolerate than those dreams that were full of illusion on happiness, in which life continued, as if nothing happened, as if Lord Amri had never come to Erebor. Those few short moons, between his mad feat with kidnapping her and dragging her to Ered Mithril; and those first rumours he had heard - waking up with her; her laughter at dinner; their love, warm and safe, like a quilt he had been wrapped in.

He would wake up in his bed; and forget for an instant she wouldn't be near. He would push his hand on the sheets; and that would be when the memories rushed into his mind. The cold expression, with which she'd listened to him in her study; her loving brilliant eyes, fixed on Amri's face.

He expected to be relieved. Instead, he felt livid, and pained, and betrayed. He couldn't summon why it had transpired, why everything had to have changed.

She was present at meals, but masterfully avoided talking to him, and even looking at him. It was just as it had been after she had refused to be his wife, after all that misunderstanding with Revna. The irony of this mirror calamity didn't escape him.

One evening a knock came to his door; and Dis and Revna came in. That was surprisingly; they had trouble being in the same room without starting an immediate argument. And here, they sat in front of him, and exchanged conspiratorial looks.

"What is it?" he grumbled, pretending to be busy with a map on his table.

"Thorin, what is going on, with you and Wrena?" Revna asked; and Thorin gave her a sincere astonished look.

Their relationship hadn't changed. When Thorin and Wrena had returned from the Grey Mountains, Thorin continued training with Revna; and there were still trade matters that they worked on together. Thorin had asked Wrena once, whether she wished him to stop his training with Revna; and his wife laughed softly and patted his shoulder.

"Of course not," she answered, and kissed his lips quickly. "Like I said from the start, my displeasure with you had nothing to do with Lady Revna. You were a clot on your own volition."

He then grabbed her around her waist and toppled her on the bed. "I'm the King of the Longbeards, you impossible woman! You can't call me a clot!"

"Clot! Clot! Clot!" She mixed the words with firm little kisses; and he decided there was only one efficient way to make her stop these insufferable insults. He caught her mouth and pulled at the lacing on her bodice.

"Thorin, everyone is concerned," Dis's tense voice returned him to the present.

"I wouldn't say my marriage is anyone's concern." Thorin gave the two women a glare.

"Thorin, we've heard rumours; and besides we hardly see any of Wrena these days," Dis started, but Revna interrupted her.

"I don't think we should make the runes dance here, sister. We're three adult people who can speak openly. There are rumours about Wrena and that scoundrel Amri; and we..." She threw a look at Dis. "We are concerned that you are being rash; and will alienate your wife. It would be very much like you, Thorin, instead of speaking to her, to make assumptions and... mistreat her based on them."

"Did you two truly think I would discuss such matters with you?"

"Thorin, you have to talk to Wrena! Just remember how before you misunderstood her, her preoccupations, and it almost cost you your marriage." Revna raised her voice.

"You two should leave," he grumbled, and took off his glasses. Headache was settling in his temples. A snow storm was coming, he knew. It would mean many hours of excruciating pain. Wrena knew how to elevate it, only Wrena. She would bring him some special herbs, and rubbed his temples. And then he remembered that Wrena wouldn't come.

"Thorin, you have to think about it!" Dis chimed in. "Do you truly think Wrena would be unfaithful to you?!"

He wanted to tell them he didn't need to think it - he knew it. He had seen her - her smile, her touch, the looks she threw at the young Dwarf - and he knew she wasn't Thorin's anymore. What did it matter whether she had been unfaithful in her body? He had lost her heart; and it was the only thing that mattered to him.

Suddenly his throat constricted, and the pain - the suffocating, nauseating torture that seemed to accompany every time he thought of his wife - slashed him, somewhere in the left side, under the ribs; and he felt his eyes burn, and his hands shake.

He rose from the desk, without a word; and walked out of the study.

* * *

The Winter Solstice celebration came. Thorin made sure to drink little, not to lose his composure. Dwarves feasted; drank, and danced; and he smiled and conversed. Amri wasn't present; and Wrena wore a red dress.

Thorin had never seen her in a garment like this: it was of dark rich colour; like those cherries, glossy and succulent, he had seen in the gardens in Ered Luin; it was more opulent than any he had seen on her before; snow white silk peeked in the cuts on the sleeves; and the cut of the tight bodice was low. She danced; and the heavy skirts twirled and tangled around her legs.

Close to dawn, he assumed it was quite alright for him to leave the feast halls; and he walked between those still revelling; and headed for a narrow dark staircase at the back of the chamber.

A pair of arms wrapped around him. He shied away; and then he saw that it was Wrena.

"Evening, husband of mine," she murmured, and arched, and pressed her body into him. He could see she was inebriated.

"Let me go, Wrena," he muttered, and tried to untangle out of her grasp.

"I do not wish to." A strange one-sided smirk twisted her lips. "And I don't think that you, deep in your heart, wish for that either."

He put his hand on her shoulder, to push her away, when she swayed. He supported her; and the arms went around his neck. He could feel her warm breath on his lips.

"I'm so angry with you," she murmured, and licked her lips. "You are so… infuriating… So very… infuriating..."

"You need to go to bed, Wrena." She barked a throaty laugh.

"Indeed I do. But something tells me, you and I understand this invitation quite differently." All of her seemed to burn - the copper curls in the flickering light of the torches; the feverish cheekbones; the red lips he remembered so well - and craved so much at the moment. He knew her face, knew her body - she was aroused and yearning.

But not for him, he remembered. Her lover wasn't there tonight. And Thorin knew how easily brews affected her, how amorous she was after just a few glasses - what he hadn't known before that apparently she was also not that particularly choosy in the source of her pleasure when the craving came.

He shoved her away from him. And either from the force of his movement, or from how wobbly she was, she stumbled; and her back slammed into the wall. Her face distorted in a pained grimace.

"Go to sleep, Wrena," he repeated.

She made a scornful sound; but instead of walking away, she started sliding down the wall. He caught her at the floor.

"I wish I could hit you..." she said into his face; and he slowly lifted her. "You ruined my life..." She suddenly laughed. "Again! I let you do it again! I am an idiot!"

He tried to put her on her feet; but it was obvious that she either didn't want, or couldn't stay up. He cursed and picked her up in his arms. She made some jerky movement; her hand flailed, and she half punched his nose.

"I can't even slap you… I wish sometimes… I can just see it! I come up to you mid-dinner, and slam!" Her voice rang in his ear.

"Stop talking, Wrena," he growled at her. And then he felt her hot, half open mouth press to his cheekbone. The lips slid up, to his ear.

"I need you to take me to bed tonight, Thorin," she whispered in Khuzdul, and his body jolted. "Don't you want to? Admit it… You crave me..."

Mahal help him, he did.

A door into a side passage flew open, and two Dwarves fell out of it. They were absorbed in a loud, joyous conversation; one had an arm wrapped around the shoulders of another.

"My lord," one of the greeted Thorin; and the other one snorted, his eyes on Wrena. She dangled her foot; and a small shoe fell on the floor with a thud.

The Dwarf bent down to pick it up.

"Leave it, Dorni," she commanded loudly. "It can wait till tomorrow, when I'm done with the King. Or the day after tomorrow..."

The two Dwarves tried to conceal their laughter under choked coughing, but they obviously deceived no one. She giggled, and tickled the back of Thorin's neck. They gave Thorin hasty, but respectful bows; and he marched by them.

He pushed the door to her bedroom with his back; and carried her inside.

"You should lock it," she murmured. Her mouth was once again hovering over his skin; and then she twisted and caught his ear cuff between her teeth. The silver clanked against them; and then her tongue brushed at the helix.

"Stop thinking, Thorin," she whispered, and her mouth pressed to his neck greedily. She sucked; and then she grabbed a handful of his hair, and jerked his head back. "Just take what you want..."

He growled, and threw her on the bed. He was taking sharp loud breaths, and stared at her. The burgundy velvet skirts bunched up; white of the silk and the lace was pulling around her hips. He could see the white stockings, and some ribbons and clasps on her thighs. His head spun and he couldn't remember what all these contraptions were for - except for driving a male insane with lust. And he could see the bloomers, flirty and gauzy. And one shoe, still on her small foot.

He tore his eyes off her legs; and looked up. She was peering at him; her eyes were hungry and dark and burning - and he gave in, and lunged ahead, jerking off his doublet.

* * *

He opened his eyes. It was still dark outside her window. She slept on her stomach, one hand under her cheek. Covers and furs had fallen off the bed, when they were rolling and clawing at each other and kissing and biting - and she lay bare, her skin pale and as if glowing in the dimness of the bedroom - except for one stocking, which had slid down, and wrinkled around her ankle.

Thorin climbed off the bed, got hurriedly dressed, and slipped out of her room. He told himself he would think about what had happened when the morning came. He was desperately thirsty, and his head ached; so he toppled two glasses of water into his mouth and fell into his bed.

 **To be continued...**

* * *

A/N: Dear reader with nick Memo, I can't answer your review in a PM, since you don't leave them as registered member. But I understand you're having troubles with the notification system of the site. You could try contacting the support. They are pretty slow, but eventually they will fix whatever is wrong. Hope they do soon! Thank you for reading!

kkolmakov


	18. The Queen's Gambit

**A/N: Have you checked my Etsy shop** **The King and Wren** **, my lambkins? ;) Couple new Instant Download fairy tales have been posted, and I'm planning to open commissions soon as well! Have a peek!**

 **Love,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

Another fortnight passed, and Thorin decided it was time to set things straight. Nothing had changed since the conversation he had had with Wrena - with the exception of the Winter Solstice night, of course. The memories of it had been torturing him since then. He had been almost sober, and every little detail seemed to have been carved into his memory: the feeling of her skin under his hands, her loud moans, her body arching into him. She had been welcoming, and amorous, and so very tempting. She had been kindred, so very familiar from all the years he had held in her arms - but also wild, and passionate, and unrestrained.

And then as if nothing had happened, she continued her everyday living.

Once again intruding onto her evening work in her study felt ridiculous; so he sent a courtier to her, asking her to find him at her convenience. The choice proved itself foolish, since now he was sitting in his study, drumming his fingers on the table, and glaring at the door.

She came in with a knock. Her face was unreadable.

He invited her to sit with a wave of his hand towards the chair; and she took the seat, and smoothed out her skirts.

"Wrena, I have to admit I'm confused by your recent behaviour. I expected you to have left by now; or at least to start the discussions on the termination of our marriage. As far as I understand, you haven't informed anyone of the upcoming changes yet." His speech sounded rehearsed - because it was. "It is time to speak to the children."

She tilted her head; there was something very bird like in that gesture of hers, he'd always thought - and studied him.

"I am not leaving Erebor, or your halls," she said finally.

"You are not?" he repeated, not certain what else he could say.

"No."

"You cannot stay. I'm not having an unfaithful wife." He had of course suspected that she might refuse; he knew how much she loved her children, and would not wish to cause pain for them. Leaving her obligations as a Queen would be painful for her as well; she had always been ambitious after all. He had appreciated it in her, to think of it.

"I'm not intending to be one." Her tone was calm and dispassionate. "I'm intending to remain the Queen and the mother of your children."

"But you love him!" Thorin snapped. He mostly felt infuriated by the slight boredom slowly spilling onto her features.

"I will not argue with you." She shrugged. "Indeed, I have learnt long ago that there is no point in arguing, explaining, or saying anything to you once you've made up your mind. There is no winning in an argument with you; so I will just set my own rules of engagement." She gave him a calm look over from under a raised eyebrow. "I am staying in Erebor. I am your Queen. I love you and have always loved you. I am not discussing my feelings for Amri, because you won't hear anything I say."

She rose. "You can announce that I am no wife of yours anymore; but that will only cause pain and anguish for everyone. So, I say, you had arrived to certain convictions before, without asking me. You can change them, or keep them - and act accordingly."

She then turned around, and headed for the door.

"Why did you do it?" he asked suddenly, as if against his will; and she looked at him over her shoulder.

"Did what?"

"After the Winter Solstice feast, that night..." He couldn't bring himself to name what had happened - mostly because he wasn't quite sure what had happened then. Perhaps, he wanted her to confirm it was simple lust that made her act so wantonly. Her lover was away from Erebor; she was inebriated and craved physical love.

"I missed you," she answered simply. "It was harder for me to control myself once I drank. It felt quite liberating, to be honest." She gave out a small laugh. He stared at her aghast. "I hated to go to that feast, knowing you would be near. I even ordered a ridiculously opulent dress - don't know if you noticed it - to feel a bit more confident. And then, after the first drink, I felt so much better - and angrier. It was, as I said, liberating." She shrugged again. "I remember little; just you carrying me to my bedchamber."

She then turned around and left his study. Thorin sat and stared at the closed door.

* * *

Thorin had to admit he had never in his life felt that confused - and that helpless. When the two of them had separated the previous time, there'd been actions he thought he had to take, the wrongs he'd thought he'd needed to correct. First, he had wanted to convince her he was loyal to her. Then, he had had her heart to win back.

Presently, nothing made sense. It had been so clear in his mind: she loved another. She had fallen in love with another, to be precise. He had decided to be honourable and respectful; and offered her a favourable solution.

Instead, she just continued as before.

And then, a moon later the news of Lord Amri's departure from Erebor reached Thorin. The Dwarf was said to travel to Iron Hills, to his family's halls. The gossip, which Thorin once again extracted out of his warriors by buying them an appalling amount of ale, was that the Dwarf claimed to be rejected by the woman he loved, and broken-hearted. That made little sense to Thorin.

Why would she stay? Was the crown that important to her? He doubted that. He knew her, she was a noble and passionate woman. He also knew she didn't lack will to pursue what she wanted, no matter how difficult and judged her decision would be. Instead, she stayed, and ruled, and oversaw the infirmary and the renovations in the Lower Halls that suffered damage during the Winter. She played with the children. She chatted with Dis and Revna at meals. The two women were forcibly amicable with each other, and attentive to Wrena. Thorin would catch their cautious looks at him from time to time.

Thorin was in agony.

* * *

The Spring came; and with it the Mountain was as if waking up. Weddings seemed to take place almost every week. Merchants from all over the Middle Earth were coming; merchants from Erebor were leaving for their trade. The market in Dale buzzed with activity.

One evening the children were exceptionally loud at dinner, discussing the next day's trip to the Town of Men. Wrena, though, didn't join their chatter as usual; and quickly excused herself after the first course. He noticed how pale she was, and the dark circles under her eyes.

He asked Dis and Revna what the matter was, but they didn't know.

The next day Wren didn't come out for breakfast; and her maid informed them that the Queen had fallen ill. Thorin hastily finished his eggs; and marched to her rooms.

She lay in her bed, wan and apathetic. He stopped on the threshold, not certain if she wanted him to approach.

"How are you faring, Wrena?" he asked softly; and she turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes were dull.

"It's one of those Spring fevers. The snow melts, and all sorts of diseases come out. I'm burning." Her tone was just as dull; but it was perhaps her vocation of the healer that made her so indifferent.

"Should children stay away from you for the time being?"

"That would be wise," she answered.

He slowly came up to the bed; and her eyes, she'd closed tiredly, flew open. "You should stay away as well," she muttered.

He sat on the edge of her bed. Her forehead was glistening with sweat, but she was pulling the covers over herself, trying to wrap in them tighter. He gave her a worried look over.

"Do you need anything?"

"My maid will stay with me. You should leave." Her lips twisted in a pained grimace. "My head is splitting."

He stretched his hand and moved a wet curl that had been stuck to her temple. She looked at him sideways.

"Have you taken any herbs, Wrena?"

"I'm a healer, Thorin. Of course I have," she answered in an irked tone. "I'm in no danger; I'm just miserably sick. You don't have to linger near my deathbed."

He suddenly guffawed. There was nothing funny in the situation; nothing had improved - but her grumpy tone was so very familiar.

"I should have known you'd be temperamental about being ill, Wrena," he murmured; and brushed another lock off her cheek.

She pressed her nose into the pillow and sighed. "I'd rather you leave..."

His hand halted over her tangled copper curls. Her words stung.

"It's so much harder to pretend when you're being caring..." she murmured, and he saw her eyes close. "To think of how it could have been… How much I..." He resumed his stroking, running fingers through the curls. She sighed again, this time much more contently. "You smell nice..."

Her eyes moved under the translucent pale lids, and soon her breathing became deeper. Thorin sat and watched her for a few minutes. What seemed to him most striking all of a sudden was that she had not changed. She was the same woman he had won over after the calamity with Revna; the same woman who'd lured him into the pantry at the pretence of doing inventory, and then started kissing him pointedly, her hands snaking under his doublet. There lay her hand, on the pillow; three rings on her small strong fingers, one with her family rune; another to signify their bond; and one more, the emerald one he'd given her in the Autumn, after they had returned from the Grey Mountains. There was the bracelet with the key and lock charms. A mithril chain lay around her neck, and he knew that a small locket, with triple portrait of their children hung on it. Even the nightdress on her was familiar. It was Wrena, his Wrena - and then remembered she wasn't his. He never had thought he possessed her of course, but she had been his - kindred, loving, forgiving - before everything shattered. And whatever had been broken, Thorin thought, could not be fixed.

He rose from her bed, and was going to leave, when she stirred and moaned.

"Don't leave..." she whispered; and he wondered if she was asleep. And then he saw that her cheeks were wet, and he saw feverishly shining eyes, and tears in them. Her lips were trembling. "Please..."

 _ **To be continued...**_


	19. A Letter

**My lovelies,**

 **Do you remember that Hobbit x Harry Potter crossover that I wrote a while ago? _Thorin Durinson and the Conundrum of the Ginger Transfer Student_? There were two parts, and then I've sort of gotten distracted from part three, the one with the mummies? :D And then I was suddenly visited by the Potter muse, and decided to write a short sequel to that story. It'll be titled "Second Time Around," and will deal with what happened later in the life of Thorin Durinson, the healer, and Wren Leary, an Auror :)**

 **If you want to read it, make sure to either follow the story itself, or me as an author. It won't show up in the Hobbit category feed, because I'm planning to post it under Potter Category.**

 **And now, to the Middle Earth!**

 **Cheerio!**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

He returned, and sat back on the bed. She stretched her hand, and her fingers wrapped around his. Her palm was hot and a bit sticky with sweaty. Neither said anything. She'd quickly closed her eyes. She fell asleep, and Thorin stayed with her for awhile longer. He left her room when it was time for the audiences; she still slept.

Some sort of vague doubt would now creep in his mind. Her presence had disturbed him before - he couldn't understand and as such accept her strange behaviour - but now it was constantly on his mind. Thorin utterly disliked any lack of clarity.

After she recovered from her illness, everything returned to the usual proceedings. When the roads opened, she took the children to the Iron Hills, for their usual visit with her relations.

The two weeks they spent there were even more torturous. Every day he wondered what news he'd hear when she returned, or whether a letter would come, announcing that she finally decided to join Lord Amri in his halls. He pushed the thoughts of her and Amri, together, out of his mind - but at night, in half sleep, he would see them, how he had seen them on the training grounds, standing close, their eyes locked.

And then Wrena and the children were back, bringing gifts, and stories, of their grandparents, and their cousins, aunts, and uncles. Ironfoot was mentioned, and a wedding they had gone to.

His family's return was noisy and joyous. Dain, Thorin's youngest, was starting to walk and talk these days; and all he seemed to recollect most of the time were baby goats he had been playing with. Unna learnt a few new axe moves from Ironfoot and was dying to show them to Thorin. Even Thror seemed to want to spend more time with Thorin and was uncharacteristically cuddlesome. Thorin always recognized his own tempter in his heir: he was loyal and loving towards kin, but had trouble showing it. But even the boy would put aside his book in the evening, when the family would gather by the fire after supper; and sometimes he would even join the chatter.

And Thorin thought that if had it not been for Lord Amri Wrena would greet Thorin, just as she had when she first came to Erebor, which seemed so very unrestrained and emotional then - or even in the flirtatious and passionate manner the two of them had been enjoying since they had reconciled. Instead he received a polite nod and an empty smile.

He watched her for the next few days, searching her face for signs that something had changed, that the visit had set some wheels in motion - he found none. After two weeks he stopped waiting.

And then one morning he was getting dressed, and she knocked at his bedroom door and came in.

"I need to speak to you," she said in a grave voice, and he threw the double he was going to put on back on the bed.

She sat on a windowsill bench, and folded her hands on her lap.

"I have received a letter from Lord Amri this morning," she started calmly. "It is regarding the company of Erebor merchants that we had lost three moons ago. His brother was among them. The bandits who had abducted them are asking Amri for a ransom."

Thorin was quickly arranging the timeline of events in his mind, while she continued, "They had written to Amri when he had already returned to the Iron Hills. I did not see him during our trip there. Neither of us wanted to..." She stopped herself and shook her head. "It is of no importance. What matters is that he had been gathering gold to pay the ransom."

Thorin opened his mouth, but she didn't let him speak. "I know of the traditions, Thorin. And so does he. The Khazad do not negotiate with kidnappers. But he had agreed to pay, and has been collecting the money they asked for. He didn't manage. And he asked me in the letter this morning to support him. In secret, of course."

"Why are you letting me know then?" Thorin asked slowly.

She looked down at her hands.

"I'm letting you know because I think that you, just as I, will feel that as a ruler of the Khazad we have to do everything possible to save those men. Were the bandits refused from the start, as it is customary, the merchants would have been killed. We would have mourned them, and honoured them. Such is the way of our people. But Amri agreeing on paying means that they are being held as captives, for three moons now, tortured, but given a glimpse of hope." She lifted her eyes, and he could see emotions splash in them. "It is forty two men we're talking about. Forty two men who have families, wives, children." She shook her head, pressing her lips in distress. "He had committed a crime against the law, against the customs of the Dwarves - but it can't be changed now. Now, you and I have to decide for ourselves what to do."

Thorin sat down on the bed, and started pondering. She remained silent for quite a while, and then spoke quietly, "I do not want to act behind your back. I also trust you will make an impartial decision despite our… personal history with Amri."

"But your 'history' with him does matter," Thorin grumbled. "If not for your affair, he would not have turned to you for help."

She gave him a long look, but said nothing.

"I need to think about it," he said finally, and she nodded.

"I shall write to him and tell him we're considering it. He will..."

"No, you will not," Thorin interrupted her. "The less people know about it, the better. I need to decide what is to be done. And you will give me his letter. I need to know exactly what is happening - who knows about the ransom, how many people are involved, whether their families know about Amri's efforts."

Wrena sighed and pulled out the letter from the sachet on her belt. He picked up the parchment. She gave him another examining look, nodded to her thoughts, and left.

 _My dearest lady,_

 _I hope you know that I would never write to you if the circumstances were not dire. Please, do read the letter. There will be no words of love in it. I do remember my orders._

 _As you certainly know, a company of forty two merchants was captured in the misty Mountains three moons ago. My brother was among them._

 _My family received a letter from the bandits, asking for a ransom for the merchants. I have agreed to their conditions. Neither of us requires the reminder of what a crime I have committed - but I do not regret it. You have always said I am too impudent and rebellious for a Khuzd; and we will leave it at that._

 _I have started gathering funds for the ransom and to hire men to go with me to the Mountains; but I foresee that I won't succeed. I have included several families of the merchants into my scheme, obviously those who I knew would agree; but time is running out, and we lack the necessary funds. I have managed to seek out enough mercenary warriors to go with me, but we still need more gold for the ransom._

 _I understand what position I'm putting you in. Don't think I don't - but I am desperate. Once the men are returned I will take the full responsibility, and no one has to know of your participation._

 _My lady Wrena, trust in my skill of a warrior. I will bring the merchants back. The King will never have to know you were involved._

 _I beg you to write to me as soon as possible. And I beg your forgiveness for the aggravation I'm bringing into your life._

 _I once was foolish to offer to brighten your life - and now I will bring anguish in it. Perhaps, you were right. Mahal did place me in your way to put you to the test._

 _With all my heart,_

 _Amri_

 _P.S. Forgive me,_ sanuna _. You could always see through my heart, my mind, as no one could, as no one was ever allowed. Remember what you believed about me._

* * *

 ** _To be continued..._**

* * *

"Sanuna" = (Khuzdul) "lady of purity"


	20. Thorin's Decision

A week later Thorin told Wrena to send a letter to Lord Amri; and another fortnight later the two of them entered Thorin's study and sat in the chairs across his desk.

He knew it had been cowardly and petty of him to set this meeting the way he had: without telling either of them in advance what his decision was; in his study, where he would be in authority. He just couldn't stand the idea of hovering awkwardly on the same side of her desk, as Amri.

Her face was calm and unreadable; and he'd noticed how she'd shifted her chair away from Amri's. The Dwarf was obviously nervous; he had an expressive face - lively features, large dark eyes - and he shifted his gaze from Thorin to Wrena.

"My wife had informed of the scheme you're running, Lord Amri," Thorin started gravely, and pinned the man down with a pointed look. Amri whipped his head and looked at Wrena in shock. Her eyes remained trained on her hands, folded on the lap.

"Lady Wrena had also informed me that, despite the impression your actions seem to give, you are neither a fool, nor an apostate." Lord Amri slowly turned and met Thorin's eyes. "So, I do not think I need to explain to you the repercussions your crime is to have, and the position you put both the Queen, and myself." Thorin leaned back in his chair, and gave the Dwarf a long stare. The man remained silent. "Were the circumstances any different, I'd have you stripped of your title and possessions this very instant," Thorin continued. "But I can't disregard the fate of the forty two men that are held in brutal captivity thanks to you. And so, I have decided to give you the gold you require, from my personal funds; at the condition that the matter will never again be spoken of to myself or the Queen. And after your return from the rescue mission, if the result is to be favourable..." Thorin made sure to lace as much doubt in the last phrase as possible. "You will give yourself into the hands of authority, in the Iron Hills. The blame will be yours, and yours alone. None of the families of the men are to be implicated."

The Dwarf exhaled sharply, in astonishment and probably relief, but Thorin wasn't looking at him. Wrena, meanwhile, neither moved, nor raised her eyes. Even her tangled fingers didn't twitch.

Thorin pushed a clean parchment and a quill towards Amri along the wood of the desk.

"I need you to write everything you require. I will allocate a person I can trust personally and unequivocally, someone from my warriors, who will travel with you back to the Iron Hills, and transport the gold. He will then return, and forget all about it." Thorin had already decided it would be Nori to venture on this journey.

Amri picked up the quill, and then stretched his hand to move the ink bottle closer to himself. A strange misplaced surge of hatred made Thorin almost cringe.

Amri was writing; and Thorin once again glanced at Wrena. Her cheeks were pale; and he still couldn't see the expression of her eyes.

Once it was done, Thorin dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. He had half expected a speech, something profound, and defensive; or at least full of gratitude - but all Amri did was give him a direct look in the eyes, a low bow, and then he left in silence. The door slowly closed behind him.

Thorin took a pounce pot, and his hand hovered over the parchment.

"Are you pleased with yourself?" Wrena's hollow voice made him look up - and that was when he saw the white rage splashing in the cat eyes, which she'd been hiding the whole time.

"Pardon?"

"Have you enjoyed it?" she asked. "Are you feeling triumphant, Thorin Oakenshield?" She was gritting through her teeth, and he could swear he could hear them screech. "Have you established your superiority? Does your sword feel longer than his?"

While speaking, she was slowly rising; and he suddenly felt an absurd urge to move away from her, or even shield himself with the silver tray from under the stationery.

She looked mad - livid and sneering, her teeth bared, her eyes wide open, frantic.

"Mahal help me, I can't even look at you right now!" She suddenly stomped, and he felt his jaw slack. "I've had enough! No more poised decorous behaviour, no more patience, I have none left! I refuse to stand aside and watch you behave like a spoilt child!"

"Wrena..."

"Don't 'wrena' me!" she cried out shriekily, and pointed her right index finger into his face. "Have you enjoyed it, tell me?! Being in power, in control, having him owe everything to you. Mahal help me, you're so thick-skulled that I sometimes wonder what I even see in you to fall in love with you!"

Thorin felt so confused that no anger or indignation came. He was civil with the Dwarf! He had come up with the solution that seemed most favourable to him - towards her, and Amri, and the captive men. The day before, knowing that Amri would arrive today, Thorin even imagined Wrena, in this very chair, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes looking at him, grateful, and pleasantly surprised. He, perhaps, was even harbouring a thought she would see she had been wrong, in preferring the younger man. He had ordered himself not to dwell on the thought, but a tinge of smugness would of course creep into his mind.

"Oh how didn't I think of it?!" she hollered even louder, and flailed her arms. "You still don't see it! You don't understand, and you're staring at me like I'm sprouting scales and horns!"

"I thought you'd be pleased..." he muttered. Why was he mumbling and trying to defend himself?! He was in the right here! He had been fair and generous. He hadn't had her lover locked up in a dungeon for his - open and indubitable - crime!

"Pleased?!" His ears were starting to ring from her voice. He only hoped the walls and the door were thick enough for her not to be overheard. "Of course I'm pleased that the men will be saved! But I just can't accept what you've based your decision on; and the fact that you haven't learnt anything! It's like you lack any sort of flexibility of mind!" None of this made sense.

"I based my decision on the fact that I now have to save forty of my men because of him!" Thorin was growing irked finally.

"Yes, but why? Have you asked yourself at least once why he'd done it? And why I've asked for your help? Why I brought you his letter, without hesitation or doubt? Have you imagined even for a moment what he felt here, in this chair?" She pointed at the seat forcefully.

"I have no interest in what he felt in my chair, in my study, in my mountain!" Thorin roared, jumping to his feet.

"I have asked you half a dozen other questions before it!" she screamed, and then she grabbed whatever was closest to her on the table and threw it at him. A small flock of clean parchment fluttered rustling in the air. The assault was ridiculously unimpressive. Thorin shortly remembered the mug from all those moons ago - except she wasn't inebriated now.

"Of course you don't care what he feels! I bet even if you tried, you wouldn't have been able to fathom it - even if your life depended on it!" she shrieked. "That thick, thick skull of yours just doesn't contain the right apparatus, does it?! It's all about what you feel, what you think, what it's like for you! You never, never, never..." She kept stomping after each 'never,' and he was gawking at her. "Never in your life tried to put yourself in other Dwarf's boots!"

He opened his mouth to tell her to calm down, but she continued to rage. "It's all black and white for you! Not a shadow of doubt in that stubborn head of yours! 'I've decided, thus it is so, because I am Thorin damned Oakenshield!'"

She grabbed another pile of papers and threw them in the air. He was so astounded that he just watched the papers flutter.

"'This is my wife's lover, because I said so.'" She continued mimicking his lower voice, and crossed her arms on her chest. She was frowning and pouting preposterously. The caricature was scathing. "I will saunter in and save everyone, but I will not look any deeper than an inch. I don't know why anyone does anything, and I don't care.'"

"Stop it!" he barked at her; and she shook off the cruel mask and glared at him.

"His brother is in those mountains! Had it come to your stubborn mind, for a second, to imagine someone asking for a ransom from you - and me, or our children being held captive?! Amri had a choice, and he made it. And he ignored his wounded pride, and came for help to the last person he wanted to see in this world!"

"Me?" Thorin asked; and she barked a swearing.

"Me, you mule! Me, the woman who rejected him, again and again, favoured another over him. But unlike you, so you know, he had thought of asking why!" She stood in front of him, her chest heaving. He could see her shoulders shake. "Not once, not even for a second, you have thought of anyone but yourself! You felt sorry for yourself, you wallowed in indignation and self-pity. I can just hear your thoughts! 'Poor Thorin, what has he done to deserve this calamity? How did it come to this? Where did his happiness go?'"

She stepped closer to the table.

"I bet you asked yourself how it came to Amri taking away your happiness." He had. Her lips twisted in a venomous smile. "I have asked myself the same question, many times. But unlike you, I know whom to blame for this torture. You!" She once again poked her finger towards him. "You! You took away my happiness. You destroyed my marriage, my love, my life!"

She continued shouting, gesturing wildly, words pouring out of her like ale from a well-shaken and finally opened bottle.

"Was I in love with Amri? I don't know! But did it matter?!" She jerkily wiped angry tears off her face. "What mattered then was that I loved you! That not for an instant had I doubted that I had what I have always dreamt of - I was your wife! I was infatuated perhaps, I will not argue. He is young, and strong, and clever - and he is madly in love with me. What Dwarf doesn't want to hear that everything about them is remarkable? That their mind and their appearance are perfect in their own unique way, so very peculiar, and worthy of poems and songs?"

She sniffled and wiped tears again. "You've had it! For a hundred years I've loved you, adored you, admired you! You might not need it, but I have loved every little thing about you. And he could give me the same!"

"But I said 'no,' because I am your wife." She took a shuddered breath in. "He is an honourable man; and crime or not, so is his 'scheming,'" she jeered mocking Thorin's word. "When you agreed to help him, for a second I thought you finally were able to see beyond your pride and your self-assurance." She lifted her red rimmed eyes at him. Tears ran down her cheeks in thick streaks freely now. "I was wrong. And I give up. That is the last blow. Why am I doing it to myself again and again?! I trust you, again and again; I feel hope and devotion - and every time you find a new way to crush me."

She heavily sat down in the chair.

"I give up..."

* * *

 **BIG NEWS!**

 **Monday, June 19th I'm launching a Kickstarter campaign for my Greek/Geek mythology novel _Hammer Up!_ You can find details and the preview link already available on my blog  kolmakov dot ca. The book started as a fanfiction story with whole bunch of fandoms mixed in it, and ow it's a completed feminist, body positive, and sex positive novel. The funds collected will go to editing and publishing it, and it's going to be ace! Have a look and consider supporting it! Thank you.**

 **Katya Kolmakov**


	21. Take No For an Answer

**Hooray! My KICKSTARTER has launched!**

 **Thorin and Wren(a), 'dressed up' as Aphrodite and Hephaestus, in a cheery, sex positive, and body positive story of a kickarse deity of love and a delicious smith! Please, back my book so it can be edited and published for your consumption! The link is available on my blog kolmakov dot ca or my professional Writer's Facebook: katyakolmakov.**

 **Ta, my lovelies!**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

"I am leaving to the Blue Mountains," she said quietly, looking at her hands, once again folded on her lap. "For a few moons, at least. I just need to leave… I have relations there, an aunt." Something strangely rang in Thorin's ears.

"I will take Dain with me," she continued, in the same dull voice. "Thror has to stay here; he's your heir, after all. And Unna will be happier here, she's always prefered you to me. But Dain is mine, and after all all, he's still too young to stay without a mother."

"What are you saying, Wrena?" Panic was rising in his mind.

"I'm leaving… I need to leave..."

Just as before, when he had thought she would leave with Amri, when it all seemed so clear to him - he found himself utterly confused. She was once again saying something, acting, thinking - all on the contrary to any of his expectations. She had been his wife for a hundred years - and he understood nothing about her.

"Wrena..."

She suddenly sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand - like a child would.

"I just can't anymore..."

And then he suddenly heard it. One phrase out of all she'd said, out of the noise and tumult and his own thoughts and his assumptions - he heard and remembered her words. _I said 'no,' because I am your wife. '_ I am,' not 'I was.'

He also understood - with all possible clarity - that if he let her go now, she would never come back.

And that, despite everything that had happened, she was - for the time being - perhaps, just for another instant - still here.

He rose from his chair, came up to her, and knelt in front of her. She was lost in her thoughts, it seemed - and then she saw him and winced away from him. He firmly wrapped his hand around her left upper arm.

"No."

She stared at him, the cat eyes widening. "What?"

"No, you aren't leaving to the Blue Mountains. Not if I have anything to say about it." She gawked at him for another moment, but then her lips pressed in a tight line.

"Well, you don't have a say in that. You have made it abundantly clear that you don't want me here..."

"I was a fool," he said, with all possible conviction. "Again. Just as before. And you were right. I am the one to blame. I am the one ruining our marriage."

"What are you even saying, Thorin? Are you planning… to stop me?" She was growing angrier. "To forbid me? Because if you do, I will tell you..."

"No, Wrena, of course not. I am asking you to stay." His mind rushed, through possible things to say, searching for the truest, most precise words to put his thoughts into.

"I will not," she answered gravely. "I will not stay."

"Wrena, I… heard you. All you have just said, about Amri, and your feelings, and..." He stopped and shook his head. "Wrena, I… I don't understand any of it. You have to teach me."

There it was.

"Teach me," he whispered, and looked into her eyes. She was frowning. "Wrena, I… I hear but don't understand. But I know that I don't. Teach me."

Her lips twitched, and mournful lines lay in the corners of her lips.

"No." Her voice was hardly audible.

"Please..."

"No..."

He took a deep breath. A few moments of silence passed; and she shimmied her shoulders, to untangle of his grasp.

"Wrena..." His voice wavered. She was his wife. He loved her. She loved him. Still. Perhaps. "I want to learn. I want… No, I _need_ you to teach me. But if you say 'no' now, I will never say another word. It's all up to you, all for you to decide." He let her of her arm, giving her choice, and freedom, just as she deserved. "And you have every right to leave, and I… I'm asking. Please… Stay..."

He dropped his head, suddenly feeling helpless, and weak, and scared - like never before, as if young, and lost again, as if stripped of his armour. Something dully hurt in his chest. He didn't dare touching her. His head felt heavy, and something soft brushed at his forehead. It was the white lace around the cut of her dress. He heard a sharp inhale, and the lace fleetingly touched his skin again.

"Please, Wrena..."

She was silent.

He looked up. She was pale, and tears ran down her cheeks. The usually red lips were white, and she kept clenching and unclenching her jaw. The throat moved jerkily. He prayed to Mahal she wouldn't shake her head now.

"Why?" The word fell off her lips, and a sob rushed out as well, like a stowaway; and she jolted and pressed a hand over her mouth. There was a flicker of hope all of a sudden - and he told himself to halt, and think, and be clever.

"Why what, Wrena?" He kept his voice soft.

"Why would you… change your mind? You… You wanted me to leave, with him… You..." She frantically shook her head, but he was certain it was the refusal he feared so much.

"I was a fool, Wrena..."

"No, no!" She almost screamed suddenly, into his face, but he didn't shy away, still watching her eyes intently. "None of these empty words! You thought I loved him! You decided it was so, and that none of the hundred years we'd had, and our love, and the last few moons - none of it suddenly mattered! And you threw me aside. You gave me up!" And then she swung her hand, and he knew he deserved the slap - but it didn't follow. With a low pained howl she hit his shoulder, with a loose fist, weakly, in despair. "You gave me up..."

"I don't understand you," he whispered, and leaned in closer. "I don't… I thought I did, and you were right when you said I saw everything in black and white. It was all over in my mind. I didn't… give you up..." He wished he could touch her, the cheek, wet, so close to him; or brush the hair of the cheekbone - but he knew he had no right. "I didn't give you up. I thought I had lost you."

"You should have..."

"I should have asked," he interrupted her, hurriedly, to make sure she knew he had gotten the answer - at least this one - right before she said anything. "And then you stayed, and… It didn't make sense to me! And that made me think… To look into the matter... I will never make the same mistake again." A sharp certain urge to make a promise came over him. "I will never… I swear to you, Wrena, on my honour… I will never..." He paused, and she lifted her eyes, previously lowered.

"You will never what?"

"I will never think I am right… without asking you."

"That will never happen..." she slowly pronounced, and some sort of a ridiculous untimely chuckle bubbled in his throat. She blinked, and then she tilted her head, and he saw the shadow of his wife - the light amused mockery splashed in her eyes, for just a sliver of a moment, replaced by the same anger, and sadness, and heartbreak. "And that would be… dangerous, for the kingdom, and… otherwise."

He couldn't put the thought into words; and he hoped she would correct him now, give him a hint, help him out - but then he thought he had no right for that either.

"I want to learn, Wrena. To be a better husband." He moved a smidge closer. He picked up her left hand - and she didn't take it away. "I don't understand you… I saw it all wrong, it was all different… all wrong in my head. But I want to learn..."

He was almost certain he hadn't convinced her, even a bit, but she still didn't refuse him - so he lifted her hand, cradled it in his two, and pressed his lips to the back of it. The familiar strong fingers were trembling; and the skin was cool. She'd always had warm hands.

She sighed and pulled the hand back.

"I will… stay… for now," she said quietly. He held his breath. "I won't leave. But I need… time. To think..."

"Yes, of course. You have all the time you need. Just tell me what to do." She glanced up at him. "When you wish to talk to me again, tell me what to do..." he offered cautiously.

She studied his face.

"I want to leave now." It took him a second to understand what she was saying, and then he jerked away, freeing room in front of her.

She rose, and then swayed. He lifted his hand, but she ignored it.

She then walked to the door, and left, without closing it behind her.

She wasn't present at the meals that day and the following one. Her maid informed them the Queen was ill. He send her a small note with wishes of speedy recovery, and prepared to wait. He had a long siege in front of him - a new quest.


	22. Sickening

**Author's Note:**

 **As per my usual habit, I was just going to end this chapter on a cliffhanger, squirrel the next written one, and then laugh maniacally... but then I thought I love you all too much ;) So, it's double update today. Don't miss the second chapter :)**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

Wrena remained in her rooms for the next few days, and Thorin was starting to worry for her health. One evening he asked the women at the table, whether proper attention had been given to the Queen's illness; and he saw Revna and Dis exchange uneasy looks.

"It is not her body that is ailing," Dis answered. She once again looked at Revna, as if seeking her advice; and the younger Dwarf nodded. "We think that perhaps you should… visit her."

Thorin gave his sister a questioning look. She sighed and continued, "She seems to be afflicted by acute melancholia. She doesn't want to see anyone, even the children." Dis was whispering, to avoid to be overheard by the family members on the other end of the long dinner table. "She might not want to see you, but we think you should try."

Thorin had matters to attend after dinner, and he was done only close to midnight. Whatever Wrena's state, coming to her at such hour seemed improper; and he went to see her the next day, after breakfast.

He entered the parlour, expecting to see one of her maid; but the room was empty. He walked up to the bedroom door, and after a pause he knocked. No answer followed. He wondered whether he should knock again, when Wrena asked, "Who is it?"

"It's me. Could I come in?"

She allowed him after a few long moments. The room was dark; the curtains on the windows were drawn; and he could see Wrena's form on the bed, a splash of white among the furs and covers.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, taking a few slow steps towards her.

She lay on her side, facing away from him; and didn't turn at his question.

"I am on the mend." Her voice was bleak. "I will return to my responsibilities soon."

"Dis and Revna said they worried. You seem to be… in low spirits."

She made a scornful noise, but said nothing.

"Could I sit with you, Wrena?" he asked. He truly didn't know what what to be done in a situation like that; but their last conversation had left him anxious. She hadn't given him an answer then - and every day he now worried she would decide against staying in Erebor. And even if she stayed, what would it mean regarding the two of them?

"Has Nori left for the Iron Hills?" she asked; and Thorin sat, at the foot of the bed.

"Aye, he has. I'm expecting him back in a fortnight."

Thorin could see the side of her face, and the hand curled under her cheek.

"Is there… Is there something I could do to aid you?" Thorin asked softly. She was silent and then sighed.

"No."

"Is there something you need? I could send for… food, or drink, or..."

"No."

Thorin felt irritation rise, at her curt tone, and the helplessness he was so unused to and tortured by right now.

He wanted to ask her what decision she had made, but then he cowered from the question.

"Would you like me to read to you?" he suddenly asked; and unlike the previous times she turned her head and looked at him. She looked unwell. The hair was tangled; and there were dark shadows under her eyes. Thorin knew little about pains of body and mind, so he couldn't tell what ailed her - but she looked thinned and pale.

"Read to me?" she asked in a disbelieving tone.

He couldn't remember whether it had been discussed, or he'd just imagined it - but somehow he was certain she liked to listen to him read or sing. Now, it seemed he had been preposterously presumptuous. He felt acute unease.

"To… distract you from your… malaise."

Some sort of surprised amusement danced in her eyes; he could see the expression now that his eyes had gotten used to the dimness.

"Alright," she drew out. "Read to me."

"Could I open the curtain? My sight isn't that good anymore."

He was truly struggling at the moment. It felt as if he was drowning and frantically grabbing for anything and everything to stay afloat. He searched his memory for things she'd seemed to like - and commented on favourably. His glasses - that narrow kind, sitting low on one's nose, to aid reading - which he had started wearing a while ago when dealing with his correspondence, and carried with him, seemed to have entertained her before. She would come to his study, and see him in them, and sit on his lap, and kiss him. She seemed to have said something once, he couldn't remember what - but for some reason he was under the impression now that she liked the glasses.

He cursed internally. He should have paid more attention.

She muttered something, dismissively; and he moved the heavy velvet aside, letting the sunlight in. She scrunched her nose and squeezed her eyes shut.

There were books on the side table, and he picked up the top one without looking.

He quickly opened it - and froze. It was a collection of poetry, of frivolous light kind. The bard had been well-known and popular in the days of Thorin's youth. He remembered his sister read it when she was young; and Frerin mocking her for it.

Thorin wondered how ridiculous he would look reciting it now, but Wrena shifted on the bed and picked up a different book. It was a volume of the chronicles of the early history of Moria; and Thorin gladly switched the books. He sat down on the bed near Wrena and started reading from the first page.

He had gotten absorbed into the narration quite quickly, and time flew. And then in the middle of a sentence, she suddenly asked, interrupting him, "What do you want, Thorin?"

He turned and looked at her over those very glasses. "What do you mean?"

Her face was calm and passionless. "From me, what do you want now? You wanted me to leave before, to go to the Iron Hills, with… him. What do you want now?" She sounded tired.

He wanted to tell her that he had never wanted her to leave; he just thought she had, and that he had been noble and fair when he had made no trouble for her, when he had been ready to give up his happiness for hers.

He said nothing of that now. What did it matter? It was important to handle the present.

"I want us to be husband and wife again. I want to… make you a happy wife. To… correct my flaws." He was still searching for the right words, when she scoffed.

"You have no flaws." He gave her a surprised look. "At least not the ones that could be corrected. You think in a certain way, but that can never change. You are you, and will always remain such. And besides that, you've always been a good husband to me, and… I was a happy wife." She chewed at her bottom lip, a distant look on her face. "Especially this Winter..."

"I want to go back to what we had had this Winter," he said readily, happy to be able to put what he felt into words.

When he had been asking her to teach him, then, in his study, that hadn't been just verbiage, not just pretty glossy words to convince her to stay. He was truly lost without her guidance and her help.

Her eyes roamed his face, and he once again noted how dull they were. They truly were of the colour of fire opal, and sparks used to dance in them, bright and merry when she laughed. She used to laugh a lot.

"Alright," she said evenly.

"Alright?" he asked absentmindedly.

He was still trying to remember when it had been the last time when he'd heard her laugh, when she sighed and said, "Aye, alright. We can return to what we had in Winter. Live together, sleep together…"

Thorin felt so flabbergasted that he doubted his hearing - and his mind for that matter. She turned away again.

"It would be wise. What else do we have to do? I could leave, but the children will suffer. We can each stay in one's halls, but it's no better…" she trailed away.

"That is not what we had in Winter," Thorin blurted out, some sickening acid as if spilling on his insides.

She was offering to take him back, but only to tolerate him, to settle for him! The more he thought of it - his mind thrashed frantically - the more humiliating, the more painful this dispassionate offer of hers felt.

She slowly rolled on her back, and then pressed her hands into the bed, and shifted up along the headboard.

"You can't expect me to… feel like I felt then," she said quietly. She still wasn't looking at him. "I can't… love you as before. Because I don't trust you. I don't trust your judgement. One day, when I once again am foolish enough to let myself be carefree, and happy, and…" Her voice broke, but her face stayed just as emotionless. "You will break my heart again."

Thorin didn't know what to say. He hardly knew what he thought about her words - but he knew for certain that he didn't want what she was offering him right now.


	23. Healing

**Author's Note: Don't miss the previous chapter! It's a double update today!**

 **K.K.**

* * *

His pride had been telling him to rise and walk away. A noble son of Durin wouldn't agree on the shadow of a marriage, on being simply tolerated, on being allowed to be around but not welcome. Had he been younger and more foolish, he'd have said that was the end, and think no more of it.

But the Winter had only just passed, and he still remembered how it had felt to be loved by her - fully, without restrictions, without a doubt.

Near Wrena, he had felt whole, strong, assured. She had thought highly of him, and had always made it known. And he admired and respected her so much that her favourable opinion of him was the best affirmation. The fact that Wrena of Erebor loved him had made him believe he was worthy.

"Wrena, I can't promise you that I will change completely, no one can…" Thorin started. "But I swear by Mahal's fire I will not make the same mistake again."

"No one can promise to change," she grumbled. "And no one should be forced to. Like I said, Thorin, I do not wish you to, and I'm not asking you to. You are what you are; and I married you; and I loved you; and I have always thought that you are the best of men." Her throat jerked, in a nervous gesture. "And I am accepting you back," she said and looked at him for the first time. "Just don't expect…" She halted, perhaps not sure how to put it into words.

And then there was guilt as well. Guilt tortured him no less than the longing for her. Not for what had happened; it couldn't be changed now; and Thorin simply didn't want to dwell on. But it pained him to see what he had done to her - her paleness, the listless words and movements, the shineless eyes. He had been so preoccupied with his own misery and his anger that he hadn't noticed her suffering; and when she'd been screaming at him, or throwing his papers and dishes, it'd been easy to ignore how much he had wounded her. But the sorrowful lifeless shadow of the woman in front of him made his insides churn, ridden with regret and anguish.

He picked up her hand, and pressed his lips to the back of her palm. The hand was hot and dry.

"Forgive me, Wrena." He wanted to say 'one last time;' he wanted to ask for one more chance; but then he remembered what she'd just said. And indeed, who would trust the Dwarf who had put them through what he'd put her through?

"I have," she said impassionately.

"No, you haven't." He let go of her hand and shifted closer to her on the bed. He needed her to hear him, to see that he understood. "You've accepted me, and you tolerate my faults, but it's not the same. You haven't even been truly angry with me."

Finally, a spark of interest flickered in her eyes; and she tilted her head listening.

"You… endure, Wrena. You do not let your temper rise. Well, perhaps, once or twice. But you just suffer, and put up with me… And you haven't even slapped me!" Her eyebrows jumped up in surprise. "You had every right to," he added. "But you just bear with me. And I admire you for it, Wrena, but I also feel like an apprentice who isn't taught because he's considered too dimwitted to be given a difficult task. As if you just give me a broom to sweep the forges, since I can't be trusted with sharp and hot objects." Her lips twitched, in a glimpse of a smile - he was certain he saw it! "I will not learn if you don't teach me, Wrena," he continued softly. "And I do, I do want to learn."

The line of her lips softened, but then she shook her head. "You're muddling me," she whispered. "I know what I know, but when you're near, you… affect me, and soon enough I will start hoping, and hiding it from myself, but still..."

Thorin felt triumphant. He picked up her hands, and she pulled at them back. He grabbed the fingers tighter. "Wrena..."

"Let me go," she whispered, and he didn't want to - but he let her digits slide out of his grasp. "You can't… It's unfair..." she whispered again.

"Wrena..."

He could see it, the glimpse of the woman she'd been before. Her cheeks were gaining a pink tinge, and the stiffness of shoulders was gone. Her hands fluttered on the sheets, like they always did, in so many expressive animated gestures; and it was easier to breathe all of a sudden.

"Wrena..."

"Don't… tempt me..." she muttered; and he leaned in - not even sure what he was going to do - just to be nearer. She pressed her hand into his shoulder, but she didn't push, and instead her fingers curled, around a handful of his doublet.

He caught her smell, the skin, and the oils she used on her hair, and the flowers he knew she kept pressed between the sheets in the cupboards.

He leaned even closer, and her red lips were near, and he saw her cheekbones flame up.

"No..." she breathed out; and he gritted his teeth, willing his body to stop.

"You said I was allowed back," he murmured. He didn't mean it in any serious way; he wasn't hoping for anything, not now, not until she invited him, explicitly told him - but he could see how his words made her defences crack, more and more with each whisper. "You said we would live together again, sleep together… Wrena..."

She took a shuddered breath, her chest rose under the white nightdress.

"I… didn't mean it that way..." she mumbled. She was hiding her eyes, her lips parted softly.

"Which way did you mean it?" he asked. Her hand was still on his shoulder - and she still wasn't pushing him away.

She lifted her eyes, and he saw how they burned, like a cat's. "You aren't playing fair," she said, her voice raspy.

"I didn't know we were playing," he murmured. "But I can't say I'm not enjoying the game."

She gulped, he could see the throat bob.

"If you want to learn to be a good husband, you need to learn to leave me be," she said. "Because you once again think you know what I want, what's best for me. You have to respect my desires, and..."

He jerked back from her, while she was still talking; and she froze mid sentence.

"Forgive me," he said in a sober voice. His heart raced, he was still affected by her proximity - but she was right. He was once again being presumptuous. "Do you wish me to leave?"

"Yes," she answered quickly, "Please."

He nodded, and rose.

"I will come down for the next meal," she said quietly. "And… tomorrow we should speak of this again." He gave her a grateful smile. "Maybe, you can read to me again..."

He gave her a small bow, and left. His heart was full of hope.

* * *

She did come down for the next meal. She'd also returned to her normal duties, and when the next day after breakfast he asked whether she still wanted to continue the reading, she said with sincere regret in her voice that she had to attend to some matters in the infirmary, which she'd been ignoring. He chose not to take it as a bad sign, and reminded her that the offer stood indefinitely.

The next few days there was a certain degree of peace in their household. The relatives and especially the children were happy to see her, and she seemed her usual content calm self.

And then Revna invited him to spar; and for the first time in months he agreed. He'd been neglecting his training with her all this time; preferring to go to the grounds with his warriors. The vigorous sparring with them, sometimes lasting hours, was better at numbing his thoughts and his torment. He'd been training even more than usual in the past moons; and had grown faster and stronger than in the latest years of dotage; but Revna was one of the best sword fighters he had - and as it turned out he'd quite forgotten how deadly she was.

He jumped at her, and she twirled, and her sword flew first to his temple; and he was too slow to move away. His ears rang, but his arms moved by the habit, still trying to reach her; and she counterattacked. The training sword fell on his right side, on the ribs; and he couldn't hold back a scream of pain. For a moment everything disappeared in a flash of white light, and he fell on one knee, heaving. Revna and couple warriors were near him in an instant. Revna was muttering apologies, and he waved his hand at her reassuringly. It happened; bruises and scrapes happened - he just had been distracted, that was all.

They escorted him into the infirmary; and soon Wrena and two healers were bustling around him. He muttered it was nothing; but no one seemed to pay any attention to his words. An older healer with very cold hands pressed on Thorin's ribs, and then continued kneading his side for a few minutes, while Thorin gritted his teeth and cursed inside his head.

He was then bandaged tightly around his middle, and sent to bed, like a naughty child. Apparently, Revna's first blow had been no less efficient - and the healers had seen something alarming while inspecting his eyes, pulling at the lids, far from gently, he'd like to mention, and moving a candle in front of them.

It felt strange to lie in bed in the middle of the day. He was told not to strain his eyes, but there was nothing to do, so he read, then read some more, finished a few letters, and a draft of a treaty. He was told it wouldn't be a long rest; his injuries weren't that serious; but he was already feeling caged. Thankfully, the children came to visit him, and he spent the rest of the day most pleasantly, reading and talking to them. He played chess with Unna, who was exceptionally good, having inherited a gift for the game from her mother. And then the three of them studied some old maps. Meanwhile, Dain had built a semblance of a fort on the bed, and his wooden toy warriors had been ambushing Thorin's hands and jumping at him from the folds of the covers. Before dinner time, Thror and Unna left to change, but Dain had fallen asleep on the bed with him not so long ago, and the maid left him there per Thorin's request.

Thorin lazily flipped through the book, hardly remembering a word out of what he'd just read, and then he looked down at his son. The boy slept on his side, his back pressed along Thorin's thigh, two blankets separating Thorin from the warmth of the small body. The hand was curled in a loose fist and tucked under the boy's cheek - he slept just like his mother. Long black lashes lay under the eyes; and the copper curls were scattered on the sheet. The orange freckles peppered the turn-up nose. Dain was truly the son of Wrena of Erebor.

The door opened slowly, and Wrena came in, with a tray of food. She carefully placed it on the table, and then turned. Her eyes fell on the boy's sleeping form, and Thorin saw a tender smile bloom on her lips.

"He is such a beautiful boy," she whispered, came up to the bed, and stopped to gaze at the child, her hands pushed deep into the pockets of her apron.

"He looks just like you," Thorin answered, and she looked up at him with a surprised expression. "And yes, you both are beautiful." Wrena gave him a strange taken aback look, and then deftly picked up the child, without waking him up. "I'll be back in a moment," she whispered, and left carrying the boy.

* * *

The smells of the food on the tray had reached Thorin's nose, and he decided it was silly to wait for her. He tried to rise, with a groan - the side ached dully - and he awkwardly rolled, trying to get off the bed. The idea had proven itself most foolish; and he froze, half risen, his hand pressed into the headboard. He took a few careful breaths in, and cringed.

"Thorin!" Wrena's displeased exclamation made him cringe even more. "You were told to stay in bed!"

"I'm hungry," he grumbled under his breath, not wishing to antagonize her more, but annoyed by being treated as a child or an invalid.

She was near him in a second, and she pushed her shoulder to him.

"C'mon, let me help you back to bed. I'll get you your food in a moment."

He sighed and wrapped an arm around her. They shifted, and she deftly deposited him on the bed. She was after all an experienced healer. Except, her other patients probably didn't use such situations to their advantage and didn't pull her after them into the sheets.

She flailed and jerked, making sure to avoid falling on him; but her legs tangled with his, and her hip pressed into him.

"Thorin!" She huffed and puffed, and immediately tried to rise. He remembered how she demanded him to release her, last time they'd been so close, and he savoured an instant of feeling her body near him - and then he let her go.

She rolled away from him on the bed, pressed her fists into her hips, and opened her mouth, no doubt, to scold him. And then she suddenly barked a throaty laugh.

"You look like a child that stole sweets from a kitchen cupboard. You know you'll get told off, but you think it was worth it!" Her charming round shoulders shook in laughter.

"It was worth it," he offered her a tentative flirtation, and she laughed louder.

"Flatterer." She shook her head, climbed off the bed, and fetched him his dinner. "Eat. I'll send a maid for the tray later."

Thorin gave her a small smile, and she threw him a feigned strict glare and left the room. He couldn't help but follow her swaying hips with his eyes.

 _ **To be continued...**_

* * *

 **My darlings,**

 **My Kickstarter project is going a bit slower than expected, but I'm still hopeful. Please, have a look into the project description and a video (you can find the link on my blog kolmakov dot ca, or just by googling _Hammer Up!_ Kickstarter by Katya Kolmakov.) Remember, it's an all or nothing project, which means that if we don't raise enough funds, the book just won't happen. Have a look! Maybe you'll want to pre-order my funny romance about Aphrodite and Hephaestus, and the art prints, and help me publish the novel ;) **

**Thank you,**

 **Katya Kolmakov**


	24. One Last Step

**ATTENTION!**

 **This in a penultimate chapter... and very much possibly this is the LAST FANFICTION STORY I write (at least for a while). If you want to know what happened in my personal life and where you can continue reading my writing (and looking at my art), please, go to my blog KOLMAKOV DOT CA and read the latest post.**

 **I think I'm feeling a tad too emotional to process this right now, so you'll see more of my rambling in the next, final chapter.**

 **Love you all,**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

 **P.S. I truly, truly do.**

* * *

The next morning Thorin woke up in a foul mood. His side hurt more, as such injuries tended to; and his head was heavy. He had always required little sleep; and having stayed in bed for so many hours the day before, he was now feeling sluggish. He craved a bath, and preferably a cool one; but the sleepiness and some sort of apathy kept him in bed. He decided to just wait for a servant with his breakfast.

The door opened slowly, and he expected a maid - but instead it was once again Wrena who was carrying his tray. He felt immediately much more energetic, and sat up.

"Morning." She smiled and came up to him. She settled the tray on his lap, and then gave it a pensive look. He saw the corners of her lips twitch.

"What is it?" he asked, just to make her stay a bit longer and talk to him.

"Six eggs and ham." She pointed at his plate. "I've never known anyone more constant in their habits." She chuckled, still eyeing his meal. "I've seen you eat breakfast for a hundred years, give or take. And it's always six eggs and ham."

"It's not true." He laughed. "Surely, I've eaten other breakfasts in front of you."

"Not if you could help it," she answered, and shook her head. She then looked up at him, and he noted how impish sparks danced in her eyes, like specs of gold in green amber.

"Well, I know my tastes, and I enjoy constancy." He shrugged. "Is it such a reprobate trait?"

"It is to a person who feels they are the eggs and ham," she drew out. He scrutinised her face, but she seemed to be simply jesting. "Does your head hurt?"

"It's better than yesterday," he answered, and picked up his fork.

"You shouldn't read today. I worry for you."

Thorin chewed his food, and sighed. He would have brushed off her concern before but he was trying to get on her good side these days.

"But I have nothing else to do," he complained, trying to incite pity in her.

"Eat. Rest. Heal," she grumbled, and gave him a look over. "You probably need new bandages. The bruises weren't that serious; but we need to tighten the bandages around the ribs."

She then left the room, probably to get a healer; and he sighed and started on his eggs and ham.

He was almost done with his food, when a person to bandage him was in his room - and once again Wrena herself decided to do the work. It was the very beginning of Summer, there were so many matters to attend to - he just couldn't understand why she didn't send someone else to pick up his tray and tend to his injuries.

He shifted on the bed, gritting his teeth; and she climbed on it behind him. Her cool hands lay on his waist and she started pulling the tunic off him. He winced and cringed lifting his arms, trying to help her.

Her fingers carefully prodded his side. He had to say she was much gentler than the healer in the infirmary. She then started opening the gauzy covers on the long lacerations on his lower back, on the side. She was silent, and he couldn't see her face; and he wondered what mood she could possibly be in. He had hated to see her unwell, when he'd found her in melancholy in her rooms. He'd felt helpless and confused; and pity and guilt made him want to flee. He suddenly thought of all those times in the last year when she'd tell him to try to see whatever was happening through the eyes of another Dwarf, and hers in particular - and now that he tried to imagine what he seemed like to her now, he didn't enjoy the picture.

Suddenly something soft brushed at his shoulder; the fluttering silky sensation was familiar; and he realized that she leaned ahead, and a lock of her hair danced on his skin. Her hands were on his sides; she must have been bending to pick up the end of the gauzes to unwrap them.

And then her lips pressed to his shoulder; and he thought he might have misunderstood it all - again.

"I miss you..." she whispered; and he felt her forehead against his shoulder. "I miss you so much…"

Thorin froze, afraid to scare this moment off.

She winced away from him, and cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have… I was out of line..."

"Wrena," he started, trying to turn around; but she stopped him, her hands firmly on his sides.

"Don't." He halted. She exhaled, and whispered, "Don't say anything. I have no right..."

"You do, Wrena." He couldn't think of how to let her know that her touch was welcome - and how much he craved it. "Just let me know when you are ready..." She was silent.

"I'm not… I just acted impulsively..."

"It is alright," he interrupted her softly. "It is… more than I ask for. Wrena..." He tried to turn again, and again she stopped him.

"Please, give me a moment to gather myself," she begged, and he obeyed. He wished she'd touched his shoulder again; but now she'd even taken her hands off him. He didn't dare to move.

He could hear her take a few deep breaths in; and then she started on the bandages. She put the balms on the bruises, and he caught the familiar smell of the herbs in the salves. And then her arms went around him, but this time indeed to start wrapping and tightening the gauzes.

"I didn't think that in my age… it would be so hard..." she muttered, and another layer of the cloth lay around him.

"So hard to do what?" he asked.

"To resist… what my body wants… what I want… My mind and my heart struggle, and I find it almost impossible to abide by my own decision, by what I thought correct and reasonable just a few minutes ago."

"Such as?" Her bandaging was impeccable. She'd always had strong hands, they moved in confident strokes; and he took a careful breath in. There was no pain.

"Such as an hour ago I was angry with you and remembered that you'd betrayed my trust and that there had been just a sliver of chance I could ever love you again," she said in a dull tone. The words stung excruciatingly, and Thorin closed his eyes. "And then I remembered how it felt to be held by you last night, when I helped you to bed - and I took your breakfast tray from the maid. And after speaking with you for about five minutes, just five minutes, I went and told the healer in attendance that I would bandage you myself, because I wanted to touch you. And then..."

He turned sharply, and their eyes met. Her cheekbones were flushed, and her chest rose in sharp short breaths.

"I'm a woman past her prime," she whispered, and he stared at her red lips. "I should not be influenced by..." She swallowed loudly; and then she lifted her hand; and the narrow, now scorching palm, lay on his chest, above the cloth of the bandages, on the very center, right over his heart.

And then with an unexpectedly loud "Oh damn with it all," she dove ahead and pressed her lips to his. She shifted closer, and arched, and her fingers on his sternum curled. His head spun, in the best possible way, not from the injury - but from the intoxicating spicy sweetness of their kiss. She was maddening, and bewitching, and he had missed her miserably.

She jerked away from him, with a loud gasp; and he continued leaning, seeking her lips.

"Wait… Oh it's madness..." she rasped out, and pressed her hand to her forehead. "Sheer madness… And in my age..."

He threw all caution aside - as if spurring himself to go into battle, to risk it all, to put everything at stake on one bet - and he wrapped his arm around her and lurched her towards him.

"Wrena..." He kissed her left cheekbone, and she squinted. "Wrena… Wrena… Wrena..." He kissed the jaw, and the temple, closer to the ear, and then the burning bright pink helix itself, and then the jaw, whispering her name.

It all felt suddenly clear. He just prayed to Mahal that she wouldn't tell him to stop, because he of course would.

"Thorin..." she breathed out, and it seemed she hadn't said his name for eternity - it sounded so piercing, and so exciting, with a moan weaved in it.

He cupped her face and leaned her head back, to see her. The slanted eyes were dark, clouded, hungry.

"Wrena..." What could he say to ask her for permission - to accept him again, to trust him again, in body and heart?

He wasn't an imbecile. And he had heard her. There was no use asking for forgiveness, although he was fully intending to, again and again, for as many years as he would have her near him. He'd ask her to forget how rash he had been, how disrespectful his jealousy had been, how humbled he was by what had happened - and he wanted to promise her he would never repeat the mistake. But he knew now what mattered.

What mattered was that he had made the promise to himself.

"Wrena..."


	25. Thorin's Wife

**Author's Note:**

 **This is it, my darlings. This is the last chapter. And it is the end of a very big chapter of my life. If you want to know more, read the note at the end.**

 **Katya**

* * *

"Wrena..."

She leaned to his lips, and her breath tickled his skin.

"It's so very unfair..." she muttered, and all he could see were the lashes, and the gentle ivory skin, with the golden specs of freckles ornating it. "You should not be allowed to have so much power over me..."

"Aye, of course..." he agreed, not quite sure what she'd said. His ears rang, and his mouth felt dry.

"I am a woman in her dotage… I shouldn't let my… urges govern me..."

"No, of course not." He nodded, all his thoughts occupied by the consideration of how warm her lips were.

"Stop agreeing… with me..." She then inhaled, and all he could think of was the porcelain skin he could see in the cut of the dress. She had the most perfect breasts, and blush had powdered the tender hills - and he imagined pressing his mouth to them.

"Wrena..."

"It's not fair!" she suddenly exclaimed, and her features twisted almost in anger. "First, I fawn over you like a girl for a hundred years; then forgive all your faults, and endure you seemingly lust after another; then you throw me aside, and now I am ready to let you back in, just for the physique, and the eyes, and..."

Thorin struggled with the heat and the inebriation that were clouding his mind from her proximity, and he met her eyes.

"Don't take me back for the body. Trust my heart," he asked somberly, and she pressed her lips tightly, and the burning in the slanted eyes subsided.

"How could I?" She frowned, and he shifted closer and cupped her face and gave her a direct earnest look.

"Because it is yours."

She studied his face for a few seconds, and then slightly shook her head. "But what if you..."

"I won't," he answered, and then quickly kissed her. She'd been right, he thought - damn with it all! A man could wait for only that long.

She didn't reject him, but her face hadn't softened.

"But what if it happens again, and..."

"It won't," he answered just as firmly as before.

"You can't know it," she said stubbornly.

"I can't. But right now I'm certain all our difficulties are behind us," he said, and stole another short kiss. "Isn't it what love is? Promises, no matter how untrue, but pronounced in certainty?"

"You're muddling me! You're weaving sophisms, and..." she muttered, and he nodded.

"Trust me, Wrena, right now I'll say anything, promise anything..." He gave her a smile, hoping she'd see the jest he meant his words to be. "I'm undressed, you're close, and we're on a bed."

"Well, that is..." she started; and then finally, her red lips twitched. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Mahal help, what else do you think I could possibly be about?" he asked with a feigned surprise. She leaned back, keeping her hands on his chest and shoulder, nonetheless - and gave him an exaggerated look over.

"Well, let's hear it then," she deadpanned.

That was a challenge - and an unexpected one. And perhaps, one he couldn't rise to - but he had to try.

"Take me back, Wrena..."

"Why?" She jerked her chin up defiantly.

"You will not be sorry." He moved closer; and brushed his lips to her cheekbone. "Think of our nights from before… I will cherish you even more now."

"Are you saying you've cherished me before?" There was a fair share of mockery in her tone.

"When I say 'cherish,' I'm being delicate." He gave her a pointed look from under a raised eyebrow. Something changed in her eyes; and he decided to raise the stakes. He tilted his face to hers, and made sure his whisper fluttered on her lips. "I will keep you in our rooms; and you won't ever want to leave. I'll keep you there, and I'll keep you mine. You won't doubt me ever again, not after what I'll be doing to you." Her lashes fluttered, and he slowly lifted his hand. He stroked her bottom lip with his thumb - he already could see he was allowed. And then another idea came.

"Wrena..." he whispered. "The fawning you'd done in the previous years of our marriage - it has nothing on what I feel right now."

He put his other hand on her knee, and started pointedly sliding it up, along the thigh. He could almost taste the skin he knew was hiding under the skirts. Once allowed, he was planning to enjoy it fully.

"Let me, Wrena..." he whispered, raspily, his voice disobedient, from piercing love, and longing, and hunger. "Let me feast on you..."

She pushed him back, strong and unexpected as always - and he fell backwards, grabbing her, jerking her after him.

* * *

"Will you go back to being a grump, now that you got what you wanted? Now that you're sated?" she asked without lifting her head; and he rolled on the bed, and kissed her perfect back between the shoulder blades. And then he started moving lower, along the spine, kissing the warm skin. She lay with her eyes closer, her arm under her head; and the position suit him just right.

"Firstly, who said I'm sated?" He reached the desired destination, and rubbed his nose to a round buttock. "Secondly, I've never been a grump." She scoffed, and he gave the buttock a playful bite. "I've been an idiot. And nay, I'm not intending to ever go back."

She didn't say anything; and he knew she didn't believe him - but he had all the rest of his life to prove to her she could.

And he did. Day after day; and especially night after night; and then days turned into weeks; and then weeks turned into months; and she would laugh and say they were too old for all these dalliances; and he would grab her and twirl her and tell her to stop blathering and kiss him.

This time around, he was smarter; he didn't let himself trust their happiness; he continued building it. He'd made the effort then, after the story with Revna - and now he doubled the effort. They had been happy then, after they'd returned from the Grey Mountains - this time he made sure the happiness persevered.

He talked. He listened. He made thoughtful meaningful gifts. He appreciated - and he thanked. He looked at her more; he noticed more - and it seemed that he'd missed so much; and that there was so much to love, and so much more to feel enticed by. Every day.

When a basket of treats and gifts was delivered to their rooms on a quiet evening… he was not even surprised. After all, they'd never found out that time whom the baskets had been from. And also, if he had taken a quest upon himself, wouldn't it be only logical that there would be a test?

* * *

He was sitting in the parlour, reading a book, when a courtier brought the basket in. After a short conversation, Thorin ordered it to be put on the low bench by the wall. He then rose and left the chamber.

He knew that Wrena would be in the infirmary, finishing the day's errands, and he made sure to return before her. He had to almost run through the passages on the way back, which entertained and irritated him in equal parts.

He then picked up the basket and with his other haul in his right hand, he went into his bedchamber.

"What is this?" she asked. She'd walked in; and her eyes had fallen on the basket in the middle of their bed. She now stood still, and he saw her chest rise sharply.

"A basket. It came for you an hour ago, just as before, with a courtier." Thorin was sitting in his favourite armchair, by the window, pretending to be reading.

He looked into Wrena's face, and predictably he saw a frown. Her lips were pressed in an anxious line.

He jumped out of the armchair, and marched to her. On the way he quickly bent down and picked up the basket he'd hurriedly purchased in the confectionary shop half an hour ago and had been hiding behind the bed since then. The merchants had already closed the shop for the night, but of course had been only happy to let the king pillage their backroom.

"And this one is from me," he announced and placed it near the first one.

A small uncertain laugh burst out of his wife.

"Are you mad, Thorin? It's as large as a pony."

"Only to match how much more precious you are to me than to the unknown sender," Thorin pronounced smoothly. He decided that even under the threat of torture and death he would never confess that he'd stolen the line from a decorative ribbon in the very same shop.

Wrena was eyeing the basket, and then turned to him. Laughter was dancing in her eyes, just as he'd hoped.

"What a confoundment! Where does this nonsense even come from?" she grumbled, and Thorin stepped to her, picked up her hand, and pulled at it.

"Come, Wrena." She followed grudgingly; and he pushed the smaller basket onto the floor. Something clanked and banged.

Thorin stretched on the bed, and pulled Wrena after him.

"Thorin..."

"I got your favourite salt and honey nuts." He didn't let her speak, and started rummaging in the basket. "And the dried plums, the dark kind you like. And..."

"Thorin..."

He jerked out a small sachet of the sugared violets and shook it dramatically in front of her nose. She was still trying to say something, so he fished out one purple sweet and held it in front of her lips.

She chuckled and caught it with her lips.

"Thorin," she started again, her cheek protruding; and he pecked her lips and popped a flower in his mouth.

He hummed theatrically, and rolled his eyes, as if savouring in bliss; and she laughed.

"They're your favourites, by the way, you impossible Dwarf. I don't care for them." Her smile was cheeky. He looked into the sachet, and then shrugged.

"More for me then." He took out another bag. "But I am right about the pumpkin seeds with spices, am I not?"

She lunged ahead, wrapping her arms around his neck. The basket toppled, sweets scattered on the sheets and covers.

"Are we to lie in all this sugar?" he murmured, his fingers already unlacing her bodice.

"Your fault entirely," she whispered into his ear, and nipped the lobe. "You're sweeter than all of them."

* * *

In the next five moons there were three more baskets - and each time Thorin would buy an even bigger one; until Wrena begged for mercy.

"My dresses do not fit anymore, Thorin!" she screamed in feigned exasperation. "Look at me!" She pointed at her cleavage, and he smirked.

"Oh, I am looking."

She smacked his shoulder, and he laughed. Neither the abundance of her cleavage, nor the predicament with her dresses had anything to do with his gifts, it was just a game the two of them were playing - and enjoying immensely.

"Sometimes I think your jealousy and unreasonable stubbornness were more beneficial for my health," she said, and shook her head. "And now I'm fat and slow and..."

"Heavy," he murmured with pleasure. "You're so very heavy these days." She gasped and was clearly prepared to smack him again, but she forgot she was sitting on his lap. He wrapped his arms tightly around her - and around her protruding expectant stomach - and placed a loud kiss on her lips. "Feed my son well, my wife."

"It might be a daughter." Wrena placed her hands over his and smiled. "I will be just as joyous if it's either."

It was another son; they named him Othin Matahhûn, the One Whose Laughter Never Stops. He was a happy infant - just as happy, as the rest of their family.

* * *

There was nothing else to tell about Thorin's wife, really. In Thorin's mind, she was a happy woman, especially after the birth of their youngest child - but not as happy as she deserved. He only hoped that the wisdom he'd learnt through the previous hundred years of being the lucky Dwarf to be married to her, and the efforts he was making compensated for at least a shred of his previous blindness and ignorance.

All he could do was to make sure that while she was an excellent Queen and an exceptional Mother - through her wits, her intuition, and her unbendable will - there would be one facet of her life, which didn't require any work from her and only brough her joy and appreciation - being Thorin's wife.

THE END

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **As some of you might know, I've recently started a new job/career/vocation - I am an inclusion support worker in a childcare facility. It's an endlessly challenging work, but it is rewarding as well.**

 **But sadly, it is also endlessly time consuming, including getting the early childhood educator degree I'm taking courses for in the evenings.**

 **So, after four years of writing fanfiction (and then taking the inspiration from my Thorin and Wren and writing independently) and later making art… it is time to say goodbye.**

 **Just a smidge ;)**

 **My plan is to continue writing on Wattpad (see below) and continue illustrating my stories, which I sell on my Etsy. You can find all my links on my blog kolmakov dot ca.**

 **On FF, from now on, I'm planning to choose one story - _Four Corners of Middle Earth_ \- and update it when I have time for it. There are a few stories I'm hoping (and has been asked) to finish, but so far I seem to have very little time.**

 **If you still want to continue reading my fiction, I will direct you to my Wattpad. The name there is Katya Kolmakov/kkolmakov; and the stories are:**

 ** _Jack in the Box_ (almost complete, penultimate chapter next week) - psychological drama. She's a professional muse; he's a successful thriller writer with addictive personality.**

 ** _Official Town Business_ \- cheerful cozy mystery about British countryside, a ginger secretary, and a lush Mayor.**

 ** _Second Time Around_ \- potterverse story, a sequel to _Thorin Durinson and the Conundrum of the Ginger Transfer Student_ that I used to post here.**

 **I hope you stay my reader!**

 **It's been a journey - and you have been the crucial element of it.**

 **I thank each and every one of my reader, from the depth of my heart, and with tears in my eyes.**

 **K.**


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